


Home for Christmas by Candy Apple

by Candy_A



Series: These Two Hearts by Candy Apple [9]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Christmas, Drama, Holidays, M/M, Series, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-05-13
Updated: 2000-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A





	Home for Christmas by Candy Apple

Author's disclaimer: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel. No money being made. Just for fun.

Author's notes: The song "Paradise" appears on Styx' "Return to Paradise" double live CD, and was written by Dennis DeYoung. The song is still his--but it was so perfect, I borrowed the words.

I have included some material on Hanukkah in the story. If I blundered on anything, no disrespect intended.

Special thanks to my ISP, which decided to go down for 12 hours in panic over Y2K. This story was meant to go out last night.

Warnings: m/m, references to domestic violence including the death of a victim, probably a little language...and some nice gooey endearments. Also, if you think William Ellison is an unredeemable ogre, you may not go for this one.

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS - part one  
by Candy Apple

William Ellison rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his desk chair. Promotion to Executive Vice President of Operations at Pacific Coast Plastics, Incorporated had been a mixed blessing. It was a necessary step up the ladder, but it required even more grueling hours than the last position as Division Manager, and it was putting a strain on an already shaky marriage.

Glancing at the most recent photo of Grace, ensconced in a tasteful gold frame on his desk, William wondered how he could strike the right balance to make her happy. The little house on Sherman Street hadn't been fine enough, and his job at Cascade National Bank hadn't been impressive enough to get them the social invitations of which Grace was so desirous. There were days he felt like he had married his father, in drag. Laughing a little at that thought, he could hear his father's words of wisdom echoing in his memory--and their ghosts living on in one of his wife's many lamentations about how much one of her friend's husbands was making... Nothing was ever good enough, no position prestigious enough, no income large enough that one could sit back and rest--achievement was a lifelong commitment...a constant progression, and he who remained stationary would be left behind among the losers...

It was almost five, the time he should be going home. He smiled at the photo of Steven and Jim next to the one of his wife. A seriously deformed clay statue of a tennis player whose racquet was almost twice the size of his body sat next to the photo of the children. The most recent Father's Day present from Jim never ceased to make him laugh when he needed the levity most. Inspired by William's newfound interest in the game, Jimmy had sat down at the small desk in his bedroom and diligently completed what he had considered a work of art. As the sculptures made by five-year-olds went, it was probably pretty damn good, really.

Jimmy had turned six just that July, and his interest in becoming a great sculptor with his Play-Doh had waned, to be replaced by the more current lust for toy trucks, building blocks and a budding interest in football. Grace had been crushed, trying unsuccessfully to nurture her son's fleeting passion for the arts with bigger and better clay sets and wild praise for whatever misshapen thing he would finally make for her just to make her happy.

Steven, just under three years old, didn't do much more than beat on a lump of the stuff with one of his fat little fists, and was much more interested in following Jimmy around and knocking over whatever the older boy was building with his blocks. Oddly enough, Jimmy had a very long fuse with his little brother, and usually tried to teach him something about using the blocks instead of getting angry over the destruction.

//Steven's almost three...Jimmy's already in first grade... Damn, I remember when I used to have a half hour at night to lie on the floor and roughhouse with Jimmy, before Steven was even born... I barely know Stevie at all... Maybe I can take a few extra days off over the holidays, spend some time with Grace and the boys...//

It was almost ten o'clock when William stacked up the unfinished work and pushed it aside, fatigue and the beginnings of a tension headache signaling it was time to call it quits. There were a few other diligent souls still in their offices as he made his way through the mostly deserted suite.

He finally slipped into the relative sanctuary of his Cadillac, which he thoroughly enjoyed as long as he didn't dwell too much on the monthly payments. Turning the radio to something classical to soothe frayed nerves, he made the brief drive home. As he pulled into the garage, he noted without surprise that the windows of the boys' rooms were dark, while most of the rest of the house remained well-lit.

He entered the house through the door from the garage that led into the mud room, and then to the kitchen. The orderly, dimly lit room still held a few traces of dinner in the air, and he smiled when he spotted a note on the refrigerator from Sally:

"Mr. Ellison--

I made meat loaf tonight--just the way you like it. I've sliced some for sandwiches.

Sally"

His mouth watering at the thought of making up for a missed meal, he pulled the plate of sliced meat out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter, then began rummaging around for the fresh bread.

"Don't let me interrupt your snack," Grace said, leaning against the door frame. A statuesque strawberry blonde with luminous blue eyes, Grace never arrived in a room unnoticed. Even tonight, her husband didn't have much trouble giving her more attention than the plate of meat loaf.

"Sorry, honey. I spotted Sally's note, and my stomach got the best of me." He moved toward her to kiss her hello, but she evaded the gesture smoothly and moved into the room, taking an open bottle of wine from the refrigerator.

"Dinner was at seven," she said sharply.

"I told you I'd probably be late."

"By three hours?" Grace poured herself a glass of wine, and when it became apparent she was in no mood to serve her husband, Bill found his own glass and filled it.

"The work doesn't get done by itself, Grace. I told you that with this promotion, things were going to change. If I want a shot at Carmichael's job when the old boy retires, I have to make this opportunity count now. It's not a nine-to-five commitment."

"More like a five to nine, if you ask me." Grace took a drink of her wine. "Bill, we have to talk."

"About?" Bill probed, opening the plastic that covered the plate of meat loaf and eating some without benefit of bread. If Grace was going to rake him over the coals, she wasn't going to do it while he stood there starving.

"I want a divorce."

Bill froze in place, a small piece of meat in his fingers, suspended midway between the plate and his mouth.

"Don't be ridiculous, Grace," he said, finally regaining his equilibrium and popping the meat in his mouth.

"I'm not being ridiculous. I'm serious. I want a divorce. I've already spoken to my attorney." She paused, watching Bill as he stopped chewing and swallowed uneasily, staring at her, speechless. He felt pinned by the gaze, and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that this was serious. This was final. This was for keeps.

"Why?"

"Why not? I never see you, when I do see you all I hear about is the office or the job or who you had to schmooze or steamroll to make yourself look good... I'm sick of it. And...there's someone else."

"Well which is it, Grace? My general inadequacy as a husband or the fact you've been catting around behind my back?"

"You bastard," she snapped, shaking her head, her expensive heels making little clicks on the linoleum as she paced. Bill mentally computed the outfit alone--the plain gray dress having set him back $1,500 at a shop on Madison Avenue during last year's anniversary trip, the shoes...he didn't even want to speculate. How she planned to support her habits on her own--or on the salary of some gardener she'd seen fit to mate with while he was at work, he couldn't say.

"I suppose you've found the true love of your life."

"As a matter of fact, I've renewed my acquaintance with an old boyfriend from high school."

"How romantic," Bill sneered, putting the food away and wiping his hands on a nearby dishrag. "Grace, before we pursue this ridiculous little exercise to a conclusion I assure you will not be in your best interest, it would be wise for you to drop it. The ex-beau from high school isn't going to keep you in designer dresses, fancy cars and the best parties. And we all know how long he'll retain his value when that's not the case."

"I beg to differ with you, dear," she said, giving the word ugly emphasis. "His father owns one of the largest multinational banking firms in the world. Owen will be President of the Western European Division. He already has an English manor house chosen for us. We'll be living in the suburbs of London."

"If you're entertaining any bizarre notions of hauling my sons to England, you can drop it right now. Jimmy and Steven are not being taken out of the country. That's final."

"I never said I was planning on taking the boys. Of course, you would automatically assume everything was going to be all neat and tidy for you--that I'd take the boys with me? No, I don't think so."

"You can turn your back on your children?" Bill frowned. He'd realized soon after their marriage that Grace was a vapid twit in a sexy package with lots of expensive clothes and a nice degree after her name. He also knew she'd never rival June Cleaver as a national symbol of motherhood. But this was something he never would have predicted.

"My children? I suppose they were products of an immaculate conception?"

"In your case, that would be highly doubtful."

"That's low, even for you," she shot back.

"So is abandoning two little boys. What are you going to tell them?"

"Probably the same thing that other parents who divorce tell their children--that Mommy and Daddy can't get along anymore and have decided to live apart."

"And that Mommy doesn't give a damn about them and is moving to England--don't forget to add that part." Bill shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me, Grace."

"You know, I had anticipated that you might ask me to stay."

"Would there be a point, other than to satisfy your desire to have me grovel at your feet?"

"I might have listened. I did love you once, you know," she said, and there was a trace of sadness in her voice.

"You loved a fairy tale. You loved the concept of a man in a neat, tidy, 40-hour-a-week job who makes six figures and showers you with gifts and has endless hours to dote on you and the family." Bill walked past her into the dining room, and continued until he had passed the stairway and was headed for his study. "Let me clue you in on something--you may actually get that this time around, because the only man who could meet those standards would be some overgrown spoiled brat like Owen Winslow who will spend the rest of his life living off Daddy's money. The rest of us have to work for the big house," Bill gestured around him angrily, "the fancy cars, the absurdly-priced dresses that suit your fancy," he gestured toward Grace herself.

"When you are here, you're not mentally present. You don't listen to me. You aren't romantic anymore. When was the last time you brought me roses on your way home from work?"

"When was the last time a goddamn florist was still open on my way home from work?!" Bill bellowed back in response.

"Precisely my point," she snapped, starting for the stairs. "You'll be receiving the papers. If I were you, I'd consult with an attorney."

"Don't think you're going to walk out of this deal lining your pockets with our sons' money."

"Our sons' money?" She paused midway up the stairs.

"Everything I've worked to build here is part of their inheritance. You're not going to take me for a ride so you can spend their college money on Madison Avenue!"

"We'll see about that." She started up the stairs again.

"You're a class act, Grace. Two weeks before Christmas. Are you planning to stick around for the holidays, or should I just tell the boys that Mommy's jammed social calendar won't permit it?"

"As a matter of fact, Owen is leaving for London next week. He wants me with him, so we can spend the holidays in our new home."

"Fine." Bill rose a few more steps, a bit closer to his soon-to-be ex-wife. "You move to London with Owen. But mark my words--if you think for one minute you're going to get a nice fat settlement out of this situation, you can think again, lady. When my attorneys are finished with you, you'll be lucky to walk out of here with one of those overpriced dresses on your back!"

"You can't just cut me out of this marriage with nothing."

"Don't bet on it." Bill pinned her with an angry glare, and she turned and hurried upstairs and into the master suite, slamming the door behind her. Wincing at the loudness of the sound in a house with sleeping children, Bill made his way wearily up the rest of the steps to check on Jim and Steven.

He found Steven sleeping, albeit a bit restlessly, and pulled the door closed quietly. He nearly jumped when he turned to see his older son, rubbing at his eyes and looking more than a little bewildered, standing there in his Mickey Mouse pajamas.

"Mama's leaving," he said, his tone almost as dire as Bill's mood.

"You've been awake a while, huh, tiger?" Bill picked Jim up and headed back toward the boy's bedroom.

"She doesn't want us to go with her."

Bill let the words hit him with their full impact, sitting down on the bed with Jim on his lap, not exactly sure how to cope with the whole situation yet himself. The little boy looked up into his face searchingly, as if he could somehow read what was going on in his father's mind.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Jimmy, because I think you're old enough--and smart enough--to understand what's going on." Bill watched as his son nodded solemnly, all ears. "Your mother and I love you and Steven very much, but we just...we don't love each other enough to stay married. Danny, your friend at school--his parents live apart, don't they?" Bill referred to Arnold and Sue Murdoch, friends of theirs who had divorced a couple of years earlier. Their son was in the same class as Jim.

"They were yelling and fighting all the time when they lived together--that's what Danny said."

"Sometimes, when adults stop getting along with each other, that happens. And when it does, it's better if they live apart. So your mom is going to move away, and we're going to stay here."

"Why doesn't she want us?" Jim asked, those intent blue eyes demanding an answer. Bill found himself speechless when faced with such an honest, naked question. He stroked the soft brown hair lightly.

"You know, Jimmy, there are some people who are really, really good at being a mommy or a daddy. And there are some people who just...who just aren't meant to do that. I just think that your mommy is one of those people who just aren't meant to be a mommy. It doesn't mean she doesn't love you and Steven...just that...that she thinks it might be better for you boys to stay here, where your school is, and..." Bill knew that even for a six-year-old, his explanation was sadly lacking. For this six-year-old, it wasn't holding water at all. "Your mom is moving away, and if you went with her, I couldn't ever see you."

"She doesn't want us anymore," Jim stated simply, slumping a little against his father. "I heard her."

"You've got a good set of ears on you, don't you, buddy?" Bill said sadly, kissing the top of Jim's head. "We'll be okay, Jimmy. Just you and me and Stevie...and Sally will still be here. What would you think about having Sally move in with us?"

"I like it when Sally's here. I think she likes me."

"Of course she does, Jimmy," Bill answered with a smile in his voice. "She likes both you boys."

"I wish Mama liked me. I made her some statues like she wanted, but I guess they weren't very good."

"Your mother and I both love you, Jimmy. It's not true that she doesn't like you. This isn't your fault. It just...we just can't stay married anymore, and she wants to start a new life."

"She's mad because I wake up all the time."

//Why should she be? When's the last time she got up to do anything about it?// Bill thought bitterly. It seemed like every little creak of the floorboards, every sound in the neighborhood--even those Bill never picked up on himself--disturbed their older son. Grace had tired early in the child's life of getting up and going in to see what was wrong, and Bill never subscribed to the theory of letting Jim cry when he was little or letting him roam the halls or call fruitlessly for his parents as he got older.

So sixteen hour days were often topped with a three a.m. wake up call to see what it was that had Jim's interest at best, or had scared him, at worst. Often, it was merely the former, and Bill would find Jim pasted to some window of the house, watching something in the darkness he could never find, even when the child pointed it out.

"It's not that, Jimmy. If your mother is mad at anyone, it's me--not you or Stevie."

"If I told her I was sorry and that I wouldn't wake her up anymore, do you think she'd want to take me with her?"

"Would you rather live with your mother, Jimmy?" //Not that it's an option,// Bill thought dismally. He loved both his sons dearly, but the prospect of raising two little boys alone was more than a bit daunting. With his current schedule, he had no clue how he was going to go about it when Grace finally made her departure.

"I want her to stay here."

"I know. I wish that could happen, but we're going to have to make the best of things, and try to be brave. I'm going to need your help with Steven. You can do that for me, right? Help look after your little brother?"

"Sure," Jim said, nodding and looking down to fidget with one of the brass buttons on Bill's navy suit coat.

"We'll talk more tomorrow. Time for you to go to sleep."

"She isn't going to go away while I'm asleep, is she? She'll say goodbye?" Jim asked, eyes wide, as if the reality were just now dawning on him.

"Of course not. She'll still be here for a while."

"I don't want her to go," the little boy said brokenly, burying his face against his father's chest, starting to cry.

"I know, son." Bill felt the tug of pain in his heart not only for his son, but for the woman he once loved, and the fantasy life that had just been laid to rest quite mercilessly a few moments ago. Fighting his own tears, he rocked and consoled his son.

Through the thin curtains in the window of the child's room, he could see the colored lights adorning the house across the street.

//What do you give a child for Christmas when his mother just abandoned him?//

Grace left for the last time on a chilly December Saturday. The lawyers were already doing battle over the couple's assets, and it had been less than a week since Grace had first dropped the bomb that she was leaving.

It was evident that Steven didn't really understand fully that his mother was leaving and never coming back. He cried and clung to her, his little hands disappearing in the folds of her fur coat. When she set him down, planning to turn to Jim to say her goodbyes, Jim struggled to pick up his little brother and consoled him, pinning his departing mother with one long look that spoke volumes about betrayal, loss...and... dismissal. With that, he made his unsteady way toward the living room and sat on the couch with his little brother, acting as if his mother had already left.

"I see you've already managed to turn him against me, and I'm not even out the door," Grace observed, shaking her head and pulling expensive leather gloves onto her well-manicured, red-nailed fingers.

"Jim has a mind of his own, Grace. I'm not going to force the boy to assuage your conscience with prolonged goodbyes."

"You're quite a man, Bill." She paused with one hand on the front door knob, then looked back at her suitcase on the floor several feet behind her, giving him the unspoken direction to carry it out to the limousine Owen Winslow had sent for her.

"I don't see a bellman here, Grace."

"I thought you'd have the common courtesy to carry a lady's bag out to the car," she snapped.

"I don't see a lady here, either," Bill shot back, straightening his shoulders and shooting her a venomous look.

"I'll send for the rest of my things."

"You needn't bother. I've already made arrangements to have them shipped to you."

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Everything except how to explain this to our sons, yes. But don't trouble yourself with that, Grace. Your limo is waiting."

"Goodbye, Bill." She paused. "I've left a number with Sally, in case there's any emergency with the boys."

"Fine. Goodbye, Grace."

In the wake of his wife's departure, Bill climbed the steps to the main floor and looked into the living room at his sons. Jimmy was on the floor with Steven now, talking to him about the ornaments on the tree. Whatever he'd figured out to distract the toddler had worked, and Bill wasn't about to disturb them. He went to the kitchen, and finding Sally working on preparations for dinner, he told her he'd be out for a while.

"You'll be back for dinner tonight, sir?" she asked, sounding fearful that he would actually be absent the boys' first night without their mother.

"I'll only be gone an hour or so. I'm taking the Corvette."

Bill Ellison had a taste for fast, sleek cars, and unfortunately, a taste for fast, sleek women. He'd been stung by the latter, so now turned to the former to raise his spirits. As he sped down the back roads leading out of Cascade, he tried to remember the time when he had loved Grace Ellison, and what had ever possessed him to think she would go the distance as a wife and mother.

Grace Meredith was a stunning woman who always had the attention of every man in the room. Tall and fashionable, her entrance turned heads, and in the days when Bill jockeyed into position for her attention with several other eligible young bachelors, it was all just a big contest. A competition. Life is a competition, Bill's father had once said. And winning Grace's hand in marriage had been no exception. His gifts had to be better, his lines more amusing, his parties more opulent and his dates more creative. Bill had thrived on that spirit of the game, and finally won the grand prize...

A superficial, spoiled little rich girl with expensive tastes who should have never been permitted to bear children. She had given him two beautiful boys who were, in the end, just a liability in her eyes. The pregnancies made her fat and unattractive--according to her--and the babies robbed her of sleep and cramped her social life. The moment Sally was hired as full-time domestic help, Grace had been off and running again. Her children amused her when they were all dressed up or when they did something outstanding, and repulsed her when they presented a challenge of any sort.

Bill was surprised to find he could still shed a tear or two over this whole mess. He'd given in to a few that first night, and now, realizing it really was over, a few more were there. They were more for his sons, and for his own panic at how to raise two children alone.

Of course there was the whole issue of what this would look like to everyone they knew. Knowing Grace, she had been working on this for months, putting her own spin on the situation with her friends. There was his career to think of now...Grace had always been a nice ornament at parties, if nothing else.

Realizing he'd better start back if he was going to eat dinner with the boys, he slowed down and turned the Corvette around, heading back toward the house. Maybe he'd take the boys with him this weekend and drive up to Spokane to have a look at that Cobra he'd heard about. The Corvette was fun, but the Cobra was a classic. It was just what he needed to lighten things up a bit...

"Is it straight?"

"What?" Bill shook his head and looked up at Blair, who was up on the ladder, putting up the first Christmas lights that had adorned the Ellison house in the last ten years. Working at stringing them along the roofline, his son's partner, the guy who was afraid of heights, had spent an inordinate amount of time on the roof.

"They look great," Bill called back to him. That earned him a wide smile, and Blair started down the ladder.

"I thought zoning out ran in the family for a minute there. Where did you go?" Blair asked, backing away from the house in the semi-dusk to inspect his handiwork.

"Oh, nowhere special. Just revisiting some old ghosts."

"You want to give me a hand getting that little tree upstairs to go out on the balcony?"

"You're serious about putting that through the window?"

"It's a big enough window to be a walk out--it'll work out great!" Blair headed for the interior of the house, where the small tree had come to rest in the entry area. "I'll take the top half and do most of the lifting."

"I'm not that old, Blair," Bill groused, though he followed the directions and let Blair support the bulk of the little tree's weight as they hauled it upstairs.

"Wait'll Jim sees this! Man, I bet he hasn't seen this place all done up like this since he was a kid, huh?" Blair asked, as they blessedly reached the point in the hallway where they stopped. Blair opened the large window, taking note of the opening's dimensions, then glancing back at the tree.

"I don't think we've decorated this much since before..." Bill shook his head. "Since Jimmy was very young."

"Before his mother left?" Blair probed carefully as he climbed out the window and guided the tree onto the balcony.

"Right," Bill confirmed, a bit hesitant. Revisiting the Christmases following Grace's departure was not something he wanted to do right now.

"Jim said he was really little--six, I think." Blair took the tree stand Bill handed him and then waited until the older man climbed partially onto the balcony to steady the stand while Blair maneuvered the little tree into it.

"We're going to have to wire this down somehow, or it'll be airborne with the first good wind," Bill commented.

"I've got some clear cord I was thinking we could tie around the trunk and then fasten to the railing. What do you think?"

"That oughtta do it. Where's the cord?"

"In my car, where else?" Blair admitted, laughing.

"You hold the tree. I'll go get it." Bill held out his hand and Blair deposited the car keys there.

"In the trunk, along with the rest of the stuff I forgot to bring."

"I'll grab it."

Bill hurried downstairs and out to Blair's Volvo, opening the trunk and pulling out the roll of cord and a few assorted tools, plus a couple small bags of lights and other decorating items. Glancing back at the front of his house, he had to smile at the thought of his son's Jewish partner being the impetus behind shaking him out of his role as the neighborhood grinch. Blair didn't say much about his religion, if he in fact adhered to any at all, and he seemed to celebrate anything he could find on the calendar with great enthusiasm.

"Whaddya think?" Blair called down from the balcony where he was babysitting the tree.

"I think it's going to look great!" Bill called back honestly, heading back for the house. He paused in the entry way, looking into the living room, where an undecorated tree and a pile of pine boughs and bows destined for the mantle and banisters waited for the evening's festivities. When Jim came there from work, they would have dinner together and then finish the decorating.

Bill walked through the house with a screaming toddler in his arms. Steven was not about to accept his mother's departure with anything but sound and fury, and Bill silently prayed that Sally would arrive soon. She usually found something to distract the little one long enough to grant him a few moments of blessed silence.

Jimmy was sitting in the middle of the floor, staring at the Christmas tree. Grace had made her great exodus two days earlier, and now, three days before Christmas, the Ellison household bore more resemblance to a funeral parlor in the middle of a wake than it did a family home at the holidays. Bill wasn't sure how long his elder son had sat in that same spot, transfixed by the Christmas lights, but it wasn't the first time he'd seen him do it.

"Jimmy?" he said over Steven's caterwauling. "Jimmy?" he repeated when the older child didn't move or respond. Relieved to see Sally come in the front door, arms loaded with groceries, he cast a concerned look at his silent elder son and followed her to the kitchen. Handing off the wriggling, tantrum-bound toddler to Sally, Bill returned to the living room. Jim had not moved yet. "Jimmy, are you all right?" He squatted next to the boy on the floor, and finally waved a hand in front of his face. There was no response.

Genuinely fearful now, he took a hold of the small shoulders and turned Jim to face him. The blankness in the child's eyes terrified him, and for a moment, he thought Jim had gone insane, maybe slid into some sort of catatonic state over his mother's departure. He slapped lightly at the small face, still saying Jim's name over and over again.

"What's wrong?" Sally's voice came from behind him.

"Where's Steven?"

"He's in his high chair with some cookies."

"Something's wrong with Jimmy," Bill said, his voice strained with panic. "He won't answer me." He shook the child very slightly.

"He's done this before."

"He's done this... Why is this the first time I'm finding anything out about it?"

"Mrs. Ellison didn't think it was important. She said he just didn't pay attention." Sally paused, as if not saying all she had to say.

"Sally?"

"Usually she would try to talk to him, and he wouldn't answer her, and she would spank him and yell at him for being difficult. It never seemed as if he even knew what she was doing until all of a sudden he...it was as if he would...suddenly come back to himself and then he would be crying and not understand why she was hitting him..." Sally covered her mouth, upset by both the incidents she was recalling and the fact she had to tell Jim's father that his wife had been less than patient in dealing with their son.

"Damn her," Bill growled, taking his son's face in both hands. "Jimmy, it's Dad. I want you to listen to me, and I want you to answer me, do you understand? No one's going to hit you. I just want you to answer me."

The two adults seemed to hold their breath, waiting, as the little boy seemed to come back to himself, looking at the two of them nervously, trying to move away.

"It's okay, Jimmy. You're not in trouble, son. Can you tell me where you were--why you didn't answer me?"

"I was looking at the lights," Jim replied simply, as if his catatonic state were normal. "I was looking at all the colors really hard."

"And you didn't hear me calling you?"

"No, Dad," he responded, frowning and shaking his head.

"Must've been daydreaming." Bill rose from his crouch. "Try to stay with us, okay, son?"

"Sure, Dad," Jim responded, still seeming a little puzzled as he got up and walked over to the window. "It's snowing." There was no childlike excitement in the voice--as a matter of fact, Bill had heard more enthusiasm from the weatherman on the news the night before.

"Maybe we'll get a white Christmas, huh, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, maybe." Jim folded his arms on the window sill and rested his chin there, staring out at the puffy white snowflakes.

"Bill! Hey, you down there yet?" Blair called down from upstairs. Bill stared into the now-empty living room, almost expecting to see a six-year-old Jim looking out the front window.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm coming," he responded, making his way upstairs.

"Everything okay?" Blair asked as Bill came partway out the long window and handed him the cord.

"Fine." Bill let the silence hang there a moment while Blair got started on the project of securing the tree. As Bill did his part, fastening it to the railing, he added, "You know, the holidays...you tend to think back on a lot of things."

"Yeah, it sure is a time for memories. Anything special?" Blair asked, testing the tension on the cord and then starting on the other side.

"Just stuff from when the boys were little. Hard to believe that was so many years ago."

"Time really seems to go fast, doesn't it? You get so busy with things, and it's just...gone." Blair shook his head. "I know I'll be glad when this semester is gone," he added chuckling a little. "With finals coming up and the work at the PD, I'll tell you, it makes it tempting to start giving multiple choice tests."

"Couldn't you do that with the lower level ones?"

"Probably. But I want to see how well they've grasped the concepts--not just if they can barf back some facts at me. You can only get a feel for that through essay questions. So," Blair shrugged, then winced in pain. "Ouch, dammit."

"What?" Bill watched him with some concern as the younger man held onto his side.

"My stupid ribs. Sometimes when the weather's crappy, I have some pain on that side. Can you reach that part of the railing? The stretch just about finished me off."

"Sure." Bill edged over to the spot Blair had indicated and fastened the cord there. "Is that anything you should have checked?"

"What? My side?" Blair watched while Bill nodded. "No. I asked the doctor about it a couple months ago, and he said that between the breakage that happened back with Vince, and this last incident with the Ryker case, I'm probably in for a few aches and pains like the rest of the world who has old injuries."

"Maybe you shouldn't be in such a dangerous line of work, Blair. Or at least, not without Jim."

"Jim's always got one eye on me, you know that," Blair said, smiling. "Besides, it gives me a chance to give something back in return for things turning out so well for me." Blair backed away a little, still on his knees by the tree. There was very little room on the small rounded balcony with both Blair, the tree and part of Bill crowded onto it, but he still managed to assess the tree's position. "Looks straight to me."

"Looks can be deceiving," Bill quipped, smiling a little devilishly as he looked at the tree, waiting for Blair to catch the play on words--and hoping the younger man would take the remark in the humorous way it was intended.

"Oh, man, now I know where Jim gets it," Blair responded, laughing.

"The tree looks fine, Blair," Bill added, chuckling and backing into the house to retrieve the lights. "This is probably an insensitive question, but did you...spend Christmas...with...you know..."

"The asshole? No." Blair smiled. "Jim doesn't like being on a first-name basis with him, so he's kind of gotten renamed at our house. We got together in January, and Jim got me away from him in June. I knew him over Christmas, but thankfully wasn't living with him yet."

"Your mother celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah both?"

"And Kwaanza, and the Winter Solstice, and a handful of other odd things I don't even remember. Naomi knows someone who celebrates damn near everything, so we were always going to parties or get togethers for all sorts of things."

"You and Jimmy--do you celebrate Hanukkah too?"

"Yup." Blair reached out and took the end of the string of lights and began decorating the little tree as Bill untangled the cords. "You want to come over and have dinner with us and stay to light the candles?"

"I'd like that," Bill responded, smiling. Celebrating Hanukkah with his son's male lover wasn't something he'd ever pictured doing, but now he found himself looking forward to it.

"Great. I'll make something kosher for dinner. Tomorrow's only the second night."

"Do you think about it much...what happened back with that other situation?"

"Sometimes. Usually I don't dwell on it, but sometimes something happens and it reminds me. Like that knife in my side a few minutes ago," Blair added, shaking his head. "I'm pretty much okay--I was extremely lucky in that regard. I just barely escaped some major permanent damage." Blair sighed, pausing for a moment. "If Jim hadn't intervened when he did--if Rafe and Brown hadn't happened to be the ones to take the last domestic disturbance call the night before--I probably wouldn't be here."

"Scary how close the timing was on that, isn't it?"

"Very. Not that I mind or anything, but what made you think about that today? That pain in my side?" Blair crawled behind the little tree and plugged two strings of lights together.

"Partly. I've never really known anyone personally who lived through something like that. I think you must be pretty strong to survive it."

"Surviving it was half the battle, but dealing with it after the fact is the other half, and I couldn't have done that part without Jim. Well, I couldn't even have done the survival part without him because he took such great care of me when I got out of the hospital. Your son's a really amazing guy. You'd never know to look at him that he's, like, the greatest nurse in the world." Blair chuckled a little at the thought, and Bill smiled.

"I'm afraid he learned his nurturing skills from Sally. I was never much good with the boys when they were sick."

"What about their mom when she was here?"

"She wasn't much for wiping runny noses either. Sally looked after them through the day, and if they were doing anything untidy, I took care of it at night," he said, laughing. "Jimmy threw up on Grace once, and you'd think she'd been sprayed with toxic waste."

"Not much of a mommy-type, huh?" Blair responded, sharing the laugh as he completed the final round of lights on the little tree.

"Not exactly, no. I think she liked the concept of children--not the reality. She didn't have any more with her second husband." Bill shook his head. "Maybe I was guilty of that to, to a degree. Maybe neither of us were born parents."

"People have children and they do their best. Some are better than others." Blair followed Bill back into the house and flipped the switch on the lights. Both men heaved a slight sigh of relief when it worked. "Cool, now we just need to do the shrubs out front."

"You're convinced we should do the whole low hedge?"

"Absolutely," Blair responded, heading downstairs with Bill close behind him. "We've got enough lights to illuminate a small third world country. I'm countin' on doing the hedge!"

"What do you say to a coffee break before we go outside again?"

"Sounds great. You don't have any of those international coffees, do you?" Blair joked, following Bill into the kitchen.

"I'm afraid we'll have to squeak by on plain old domestic stuff." Bill poured two large mugs. "Of course, now that we won't be going back up on the roof, we could raise the stakes a little." He opened the cupboard and took out a bottle of kahlua.

"Good idea. At least this way, the lights'll look even to us no matter how bad they really look."

The two men sat at the table with their spiked coffee and a plate of Christmas cookies Sally had left behind for their snack.

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Bill hastened to add.

"Shoot."

"You've probably heard this more than you ever want to again, but...I can't help but wonder how you could have stayed with someone who was...treating you that way."

"Logical question. The one that springs to everyone's mind, I know." Blair took a drink of his coffee, and for a moment, Bill regretted belaboring the unpleasant topic. Still, it was rare for him to have this much time one-on-one with Blair, and he was intrigued. He'd never known anyone who survived a situation like Blair's. "At first, I blamed myself. See, right from the start, there really was nobody but Jim. The only reason I hooked up with Vince was because Jim wasn't ready to get together with me that way. So I figured that maybe I was bringing it on myself--bad karma for using Vince, and not really loving him."

"Did he know you didn't care about him?"

"I did care about him, in the beginning. I always loved Jim, but you know, it wasn't going to happen, so I had to get on with my life, and I got together with Vince. But I didn't love him, and I was using him to get on with my life--the relationship wasn't built on love." Blair sighed. "When I could see that it was getting really bad, beyond what I could chalk up to getting my just desserts for not really loving him enough, I started talking about leaving, and he pulled all these threats out of his hat. Threats about Jim, about my mom...things he'd do if I left him."

"So you stayed to protect them?"

"Largely, yeah. I mean, a lot of jerks like Vince talk big, but with him, he was such a total...psycho...I knew he'd really do it." Blair took another drink. "And there were tapes." He paused, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. "Vince made some tapes... I don't think I need to draw you any pictures what type of tapes they were. He said if I walked out, he'd mail them to the top brass at the Cascade PD, maybe the mayor... I couldn't let him do that to Jim, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find the damn tapes. I figured out he had them in storage, but I never got a chance to steal the key and go after them myself before everything blew up."

"That's really horrible." Bill shook his head, marveling at how depraved some people could really be. "What became of the tapes?"

"Well, I don't know as I should say."

"Jimmy took care of them. No need to say more," Bill responded, knowing perfectly well that his son would have slain that dragon for Blair without a second thought.

"Vince had a way of trapping you--of coming at you from all sides. Even after I was away from him, he was still trying to blackmail me with the tapes, and I...I tried to take an overdose, but Jim caught me in time."

"I didn't know," Bill responded honestly, shaken at the thought that the man who was not only his son's life partner, but fast becoming part of his family in every sense of the word, barely escaped death a second time during his initial ordeal.

"I didn't see any way out, and I just wanted to get away from him, and to know that the people I loved were safe. I figured if I were dead, there'd be no reason for him to go after them--I wouldn't be there for him to badger with it, so he'd have to move on. Jim checked on me through the night and rushed me into the hospital. I was just so...messed up that I couldn't see another way out. I think there probably always is another way out, but at the time, it didn't seem like it."

"I'm sorry to dwell on this. I...just never knew much about your ordeal, and I know it was serious..."

"That's okay. You're Jim's dad--that makes you family. Families need to get to know each other. And like it or not, Vince was a very major, defining experience in my life."

"Ready for a refill?" Bill asked.

"On the coffee, but not the kahlua. I want to be sure I'm plugging those lights into the right sockets out there."

Jim pulled up in front of the Ellison house, and had to laugh at the sight before him. His father was laughing. Not smiling, not chortling--but laughing. Hard enough to turn his face an almost frightening shade of electric pink. He was about to assume his father had cracked completely when there was motion in the hedge, and finally, a gloved hand came up, and Bill grabbed it and began pulling. Figuring there was a shaggy-haired accomplice at the other end of that hand, Jim shook his head and smiled as he parked the truck in the driveway and got out of the car with the large bags of Chinese take-out he'd been ordered to bring with him.

"We had a little problem with the lights," Bill said, barely catching his breath. Jim got a whiff of coffee and kahlua, and smiled knowingly. He set the bags on the sidewalk and helped pull Blair out of the foliage.

"We had a little problem with the coffee, too, I think," Blair said as he was restored to a standing position. Both Bill and Blair laughed again at that, and Jim had to chuckle.

"Did you have a splash of coffee with your booze?" he inquired of Blair as he kissed the younger man's mouth briefly in greeting.

"There's nothing affectionate about that. You're giving me a breathalyser test," Blair accused, grinning.

"He tried to turn down the refill," Bill defended. "But it is cold out here, you know."

"Maybe food'll help. So how far along did you get with the hedge?"

"Almost done," Blair said proudly. We just haven't lit everything up yet."

"Is it safe to try that considering the condition you two were in when you did the hedge?"

"I just lost my balance on this one. We might need to fix a few of the lights here, but we did all right with everything else."

"I hope you did the balcony and the roof before the coffee break," Jim teased, picking up the bags and following the other two men into the house.

"Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Jimmy. I saved some kahlua for you."

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Jim joked in return as they headed for the kitchen.

After consuming dinner somewhat voraciously, the three men adjourned outdoors to light up the decorations. To their delight, with the exception of the shrub Blair had fallen into, everything looked stunning, from the line of lights along the roof, to the illuminated tree on the little balcony, to the path of lights adorning the hedge that led to the front door. Jim couldn't remember ever seeing the house look that festive, and it seemed to Bill that it never had been that festive--with or without Grace.

Inside, they began the task of hanging pine boughs on the staircase, accented by big red bows. Jim couldn't remember ever doing this much decorating in the past. There was always a tree, a wreath on the door, and a few poinsettia plants that Sally would bring home and place at strategic points in the house.

"Think you could take a break from that to go out and get a tree?" His father's voice startled Jim from his concentration on his 9th grade English Lit homework. The distraction was most welcome--and yet, the proposed outing was two hours later than planned. Jim really had no patience with the idea of cruising all over town and buying a tree at some pathetic discount store that was still open this late.

"Every place is closed now, Dad," he said a bit tersely, glancing pointedly at the clock. Why would he expect he and Steven would compete with an evening at the Country Club?

"Then we'll get someone to open up." Bill coughed loudly and sniffed a time or two.

"You have a cold, Dad?" Jim frowned.

"Damned cigar smoke. I don't know what gives off more fumes in that place--the fireplace or all those old codgers and their stogies. Come on, Jimmy. Steven's got his heart set on getting a tree tonight."

"Where do you expect to get one this time of night?" Jim rose from his desk chair and grabbed his jacket off the bed post where he'd hung it.

"We'll find someplace."

"Last year we went on Saturday," he recalled.

"I'm going to be in Seattle Saturday, Jimmy. It's December 10th already. If we push this until the following weekend, you won't get anything but the leftovers."

"I guess."

"Look, I'm sorry about not doing it last Sunday like I promised, but the O'Donnells were only in town for a weekend, and the other guys on the Board at the Arts Council know that I'm friends with Mike, so I had the best chance of pitching that grant request to him for the concert series."

"Did you get the grant?" Jim asked, falling into step with his father on the way downstairs. Apparently, Steven was already down there waiting.

"Yeah, we did," his father responded, nodding and smiling a little. On top of his work schedule, William Ellison was also on a number of boards for area non-profit organizations. While many of them were name-only resume-builders, he was partial to and active in a couple--like the Cascade Arts Council and the Cascade Memorial Hospital Board.

After finding two tree lots closed and no sign of anyone who could be roused to get one, William Ellison was not to be daunted. He drove twenty minutes outside of town until they arrived at the sprawling estate of a friend of his on the CAC Board.

"Come on up to the door with me. The old boy's more likely to come off a tree if we hit him with the family approach."

"You want to beg a free tree off this guy?" Steven asked from the backseat of the Cadillac, his eyes widening.

"He's got a pine woods behind the house that he keeps talking about clearing in the spring to put in a tennis court. I thought I'd volunteer to take one tree off his hands."

Still a little stunned at their father's tenacity with the tree project, the two boys accompanied him to the door while he rang the bell. A stout elderly man opened it, smiling immediately upon seeing their father there.

"Bill! Hey, come on in. These must be the boys?"

"This is Jim, and this is Steven. Boys, this is Carl Parsons, chairman of the Arts Council Board." Both boys shook hands with the older man and delivered the expected courtesies.

"I've sure heard plenty about you two. Say, Jim, that was quite a season you had on the freshman football team, I understand."

"Thanks. It was okay."

"Okay? He was voted the MVP among the freshman players," Bill boasted, slapping his son on the back proudly.

"Congratulations. Steven's the basketball champ, right?" Mr. Parsons asked, smiling good-naturedly at the younger boy, who, at 10 years old, really only had a budding interest in basketball and not much claim to fame in the sport.

"I think he'll do us proud once he gets up into a grade where they have a team," Bill said, smiling. "Say, Carl, I have a favor to ask. I promised the boys we'd get a tree this past weekend, and I didn't make good on my promise. I'm pretty booked the rest of the week, and we've had a little trouble finding anyplace open. I was wondering if we might relieve you of one of those pine trees you're planning on clearing out this spring?"

"Say, I should start up a business for myself out here and let a bunch of other people clear that out for me," he replied, chuckling. "Sure, go ahead. I'll turn on the outside lights around the pool--you ought to be able to see what you're doing from there."

"I owe you one, Carl."

"Aw, hell, you got O'Donnell to cough up a hundred grand. I think I can part with a pine tree. Go on out through the garage--there's an axe and saw in there you can use."

"Thanks, Mr. Parsons," Jim added, exchanging enthusiastic smiles with Steven.

"You're welcome, boys. You guys go out and get your tree, and stop back at the house when you're done. Martha'll make us some hot chocolate," Parsons said, referring to his elderly wife, who had just poked her head into the foyer to see what was going on. After another round of introductions, the three of them departed to get the tree.

Both boys were a little groggy after not getting to bed until after two in the morning, but neither of them would ever forget the late-night excursion to the estate, drinking hot chocolate in a living room the size of their yard, or waking up a startled Sally at one in the morning by dragging a seven-foot fir tree through the front door.

"What is it?" Blair asked as he noticed Jim chortling a little. The three of them were working on decorating the tree now, and Jim had seemed lost in his own private amusement for a few minutes.

"Dad, do you remember the year we went out to Carl Parsons' place and heisted him for one of his pine trees?" Jim asked Bill, who paused a moment, and then laughed at the memory.

"Carl got a kick out of that. I think he mentioned it almost every Christmas until he passed away. Every December Board meeting of the Arts Council, he'd nudge me with an elbow and say 'I still haven't cleared those woods out, Bill. Need a tree?'" Bill smiled fondly. "Carl was quite a character."

"Is his wife...oh, what was her name...Martha--is she still alive?"

"No, she passed on a few years before Carl. Not too long after you moved away, Jimmy." Bill stepped back to evaluate the placement of the ornaments, then adjusted the position of the one he'd just hung.

"You guys cut down a tree out of somebody's yard?" Blair asked, smiling.

"His yard was about the size of this whole subdivision," Bill clarified. "He had a huge estate outside of town. Sam Hooper and his family bought that from Parsons' kids after he died," Bill noted to Jim.

"Are we ready to fire this baby up?" Blair asked from his position on the floor.

"Go for it, Chief," Jim responded. Blair plugged the cord into the wall, and the tree came to life with numerous lights.

"We haven't had a tree like this since you and Steven were boys," Bill said, smiling fondly at the seven-foot pine, bedecked with lights, garland and ornaments.

"You mean since we pirated one out of Carl's yard."

"That too," Bill admitted, laughing again. "Jimmy...I know there were a lot of things I missed--I know I even worked through dinner a couple of Christmas Eves... The times I did things with you and your brother...they're the times I remember. I couldn't tell you what any of those damn meetings were about now, but I remember every minute of that visit out to Carl Parsons' place."

"Thanks, Dad. That means a lot," Jim said tightly, smiling a little. Blair couldn't suppress his own smile, though he tried to busy himself with an unnecessary adjustment of the lights. "I guess sometimes you get focused on the negatives, and the rest of it...fades."

"I know a handful of outings weren't enough, Jimmy. I always meant to do more...to get to the games or to take a Saturday totally off and not take any calls... Things always happened, and one thing led to another..."

"You don't have to apologize for that, Dad. You did what you thought was right at the time." Jim was uncomfortable now with his father's apologetic tone. This was supposed to be a happy time, and it seemed like a wave of melancholy had hit his father broadside.

"No, I let work and the boards I was on and the other things... take me over. Looking back now, I remember the times I took you or Steven somewhere, or we all did something together, and those are the good memories. There are just so damn few of them. I have a million business meetings and social events under my belt and I don't honestly remember 95% of them now."

"Maybe we'll just have to work hard to make some new memories here, guys," Blair suggested. "What was Steven doing that he couldn't get loose tonight?"

"Guess," Jim said, shaking his head.

"Business meeting?" Blair asked, wincing a little.

"Like father, like son," Bill spoke up. "I'm really proud of Steven. He's done very well--propelled himself up the ladder fast for someone his age. I just wish he wouldn't make the same mistakes I did."

"They didn't seem like mistakes to you at the time, Dad. With Steve...he doesn't have kids or a wife, and he's not used to us being all that close at the holidays..." Jim shrugged.

"Hey, what do you think of the tree?" Blair interjected, hoping to infuse a little cheer back into the evening.

"I think we could make Martha Stewart jealous," Bill opined, laughing.

Jim smiled as Blair's head jerked back up for the second time during the ride home. It was almost one in the morning, and Blair had been up since dawn. Having taught an eight o'clock class and then meeting with a couple of abuse complainants at the station mid-morning, Blair had already put in quite a day by the time he showed up at Jim's father's house a little after noon.

Decorating the Ellison homestead had been Blair's idea, and no doubt part of his never-ending goal of mending fences between the members of the Ellison clan. Having correctly assessed that there was certainly love present there, and that father and sons wished for a better relationship but didn't always know how to go about it, Blair had made it his personal mission to promote the healing process at every turn. The result had been an unexpected friendship between Blair and Jim's father--two more different people Jim couldn't imagine.

"Kahlua catching up with you, Chief?" Jim asked, reaching over to ruffle the soft curls.

"I think the eighteen-hour day is catching up with me." Blair yawned. "And the kahlua," he added, chuckling.

"That was really nice--what you did for my dad, going over there and putting all those lights out. I know it meant a lot to him."

"I wish I could understand him better--why he did some of the stuff he did when you were a kid. Like the thing with the drums."

"He thought they were a bad influence. Just like he thought it was bad for me to be different." Jim sighed. "I stopped trying to figure it out years ago, Chief."

"It's obvious he really loves you and Steven. I just wonder sometimes how he could be so smart in business and so fucking clueless with his kids."

"It's a gift," Jim said, chortling a little.

"I guess he was just trying to use his expertise in one area in another where it didn't work. You and Steven weren't employees he needed to motivate."

"I think he was very bitter after my mother left. I know the one-upsmanship with the jerk she married nagged at him too. It was always important that he make it a little farther, a little faster--and since he was doing it all on his own without his father owning the companies where he worked, it was a real trick." Jim turned into the driveway of their own house, which was adorned with its own colored lights around the roofline and on the surrounding shrubbery. "Her walking out was a real slap in the face to him--everything was a competition, and he lost, so he spent the rest of his life...proving something to her."

"Consciously, do you think?"

"Not always. But I think when someone walks out on you, there's always this little part of you that really wants them to regret it. And my father was no exception. He may not have really loved my mother all that deeply by the time she left, but she hurt him. He started out loving her...things just went downhill...and I don't know as she ever loved him all that much, or all that deeply. I know she was able to just walk out the door and leave all three of us with barely a backward glance when she got a better offer."

"It's hard to figure how a mother can leave her kids like that."

"Well, she did it. A week before Christmas."

"Aw, man, you gotta be kidding me! That's awful!"

"I never could seem to figure her out. I don't think she liked me too well. I don't think she was crazy about either one of us, but I seemed to rub her the wrong way."

"You were how old? Six? How could you rub your mother the wrong way when you're six?"

"I don't know. She was always getting pissed off at me for something. Looking back, maybe it had something to do with my senses. I know I used to wake up a lot at night and wander around. I'd hear something and want to know what it was."

"I just wish someone had been there who knew about your senses...how to guide you or train you to live with them."

"Come on, Chief. It's late, it's cold out here...this is ancient history."

"It's important."

"Not anymore. It's over."

"Have you ever heard from her again?"

"We always got cards and presents at Christmas and our birthdays. We stayed with her and her new husband for a week one summer, but after that, my dad couldn't seem to work it out with her. I guess a week with two kids made a believer out of that pompous asshole she was married to, and he didn't want us back." Jim opened his door and got out. "Come on, let's go in the house. I'm ready to hit the sack."

"Yeah, okay," Blair responded distractedly. As he got out of the truck and followed Jim into the house, Blair reached forward and took a hold of Jim's hand. There was a responding squeeze and a smile from Jim as he unlocked the door with his free hand. "I really hate what she did."

"I know. I wasn't thrilled about it either. But it's water under the bridge now." Jim unlocked the door and opened it, and they went inside, feeling as they always did the sense of coziness and peace of retreating into their home for the night.

After a quick shower, both men crawled into bed and spooned together, dozing off fairly quickly. The rest was short-lived, though, as Blair started wriggling around, pushing at Jim's arm where it curled around his middle. The accompanying miserable-sounding moans and half-words that came from Blair signaled Jim it was a nightmare.

Knowing his best recourse when Blair wanted to be released was to release him rather than wrestle with him, Jim moved his arm and started talking to Blair.

"Chief, it's me. You're having a nightmare, sweetheart. Come one, baby. Wake up for me. It's Jim. You're home, with me, in our bed. Come on, Chief. It's safe here. You're home. That's it," Jim said, smiling with a little relief as Blair stilled a bit, then rolled over and looked at him with puzzled eyes. "You're safe, baby. Right here with me where you belong. It's okay," he said gently, leaning forward to kiss Blair's forehead.

"Nightmare," Blair muttered unnecessarily. He rubbed at his wet eyes. "Vince."

"I kind of thought so. Usually when you start pushing away, that's what it is." Jim took a hold of Blair's hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "You want to talk about it?" He always respected Blair's physical space as much as possible when Blair had pushed him away, even if it was during a dream. It was never long before Blair scooted back in close, and tonight was no exception. Jim quickly wrapped his lover up tightly in his arms.

"I don't think so. Just...it was just...stuff...he was there, and I was afraid of him, but not much happened, and then he grabbed me...I don't want to go over it."

"You don't have to, cuddlebug. It's okay." Jim went to work at gently rubbing Blair's back, knowing that would help relax him again. "Side still hurting?" he asked softly.

"You noticed that?" Blair asked, seeming surprised.

"You seemed a little stiff when we were hanging the garlands on the staircase."

"I sort of pulled something when I was working on the tree on the balcony, and then I fell kind of hard into the shrubs. Guess I'm about as rough and tumble as an old man--wait, I take that back. Your dad is tougher than I am."

"My dad didn't get his ribs broken twice on the same side and have major surgery there as well. Besides, the weather's nasty out there--it's supposed to snow and sleet tonight. The doctor said you might have a few aches and pains in the bad weather."

"I know. I guess it's just lying here with my side hurting... reminds me."

"Something else is bothering you."

"I thought I was at a point I could talk about Vince and not have him pop up like some...bogeyman in my dreams."

"When did you talk about him?"

"With your dad, a little. Don't get mad at him--he was really polite about it and everything. But he was curious, and I wanted him to feel free to talk to me about it. I thought I could handle just...you know, real general stuff. I guess I'm not as good as I thought yet."

"I'll tell him to lay off the questions."

"No, don't do that. He really didn't ask anything offensive. I don't want you to come down on him for being curious. He didn't do it to hurt me."

"Okay, sweetheart. I won't mention it. You want a back rub?"

"The one you're doing feels pretty good just like this," Blair said, smiling and snuggling against Jim, feeling the gentle hands rubbing over his back in slow, easy circles. They slid under his t-shirt and carefully massaged, easing the tension. "Just hang onto me for a while and make the memories stay away, huh?" Blair asked in a voice little more than an exhalation against Jim's neck. "Tell me something about Peru...a nice memory...something about the jungle, when you were there...you know, the rainforests...something...peaceful."

Jim smiled against the soft curls near his face. Blair wanted Jim to tell him a story, something that would transport his mind away from the painful memories, to a place that was beautiful, peaceful, and untouched by depravities like the ones Watson had visited upon him.

"One of my favorite places there was the waterfall. It was quite a hike to get there, over some pretty rough terrain, so it was secluded. The air there was sweeter...it smelled like all the jungle flowers blooming in the lush foliage. My favorite time to spend there was night time."

"Did you spend the whole night there?" Blair asked through a yawn.

"I'd hike up there in the afternoon sometimes, when I needed to get away, refuel, spend some time on my own. I'd stay the night and go back at first light. There was nothing more beautiful than seeing the moon shine through the trees, and hit the water. It sparkled like liquid diamond, hitting the rocks and sending showers of little diamonds all around." Jim smiled as he felt Blair's breathing starting to even out. He elaborated a bit more on the moonlight, and then started a more mundane discussion of the location relative to the Chopec village, and finally degenerated to a description of the food he used to carry as provisions. When Blair didn't react to the changeover to such a dull topic, Jim knew he was zonked.

A bit troubled why his father was questioning Blair about such a miserable time of his life, Jim dismissed any further analysis until morning. He had an early call, and sleep was calling his name.

"The tree looks beautiful!" Sally exclaimed as she accompanied Bill into the living room after breakfast. "Oh, and all the pine on the stairs and the bows...just wonderful!"

"Blair was here most of the day and then Jimmy showed up for dinner and we did the inside of the house last night. You should see it all lit up out front. It's really something," Bill boasted, feeling infused with the Christmas spirit for the first time in many long years.

"I'm glad that you get along so well with Jimmy's partner," Sally said, smiling knowingly.

"You thought I wouldn't put up with him bringing a man home instead of a woman, huh?" Bill asked, smiling a little. Sally and he had been running a household together longer than many of the married couples he knew, and it was fairly easy now to read what she thought even if she didn't voice it.

"Some parents never feel good about it. And they miss out on spending any time with the children."

"I wasn't thrilled at first. But I look at it this way. I brought home a woman, and look at all the good it did me. Jimmy's certainly better off with Blair than I was with Grace."

"Are you going to tell Jimmy that she called?" Sally asked as they walked back to the kitchen, where Bill would get his third cup of coffee and read his morning paper while she did the breakfast dishes.

"What would be the point?" He sat at the table and opened the sports section. Sally grimaced a little, but he didn't see her. "I'm going to be at the office part of the day today. There's a budget committee meeting scheduled for two o'clock, and I want to drop in and terrorize them for a few minutes," he said, chuckling.

"Now don't let them get you too riled up," she admonished, starting on the dishes. "You know how annoyed you get at those meetings."

"If they hadn't put that damned idiot at the helm of Operations, I wouldn't get so worked up. If I asked him to count beyond ten without his computer, he'd have to take his shoes and socks off," Bill observed, shaking his head. "Somebody has to show up to shoot holes in his projections for the new year."

"What do you want me to tell Mrs. Elli...Mrs. Winslow if she calls again? She keeps asking if the boys are going to spend Christmas here, if I have their numbers..."

"Simple." Bill folded up the paper and took another drink of his coffee. "Tell her that you do not have my permission to give her any information about my plans or the boys' plans, and certainly not any contact information. If she wants that, she'll have to call back in the evening when I'm home."

"She said she tried calling Jimmy at the police department, but he's never in."

"I'll call her tonight," Bill said, rising and bringing his cup to the sink. "I don't want her pestering Jim at work. He has enough on his mind there without that distraction."

"Maybe he'd like to hear from her."

"I doubt that." Bill moved toward the door of the kitchen, then paused. "I'll be sure to tell him she's trying to call, Sally."

"I think that's good," she said, smiling with obvious approval.

"Blair Sandburg," Blair said, answering the phone on Jim's desk. Jim was questioning a suspect downstairs, and Blair was running a couple names through the computer relevant to a case he was involved in through the Domestic Violence Unit.

"I...I must have the wrong extension," a woman's voice came over the phone.

"Who were you trying to reach?" Blair asked, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he typed another name into the computer.

"James Ellison."

"This is his desk. He's away from it at the moment. Can I leave a message for him?"

"Are you his partner?"

"Yes," Blair responded, though he knew he wasn't exactly in that official capacity.

"Will he be back in soon?"

"I think so. Who's calling, please?"

"Just tell him that Grace Winslow called. I...I'll try him another time." There was a click and Blair found himself on the phone with the dial tone.

"What the...?" Blair stared at the phone as he hung it up. //Grace Winslow? As in Grace Ellison Winslow??//

"Hey, Chief, looks like we got a live one," Jim said cheerfully, tossing a file folder on the desk. "Freemont just sang like a canary." Jim took a hold of Blair's chair and wheeled it, and Blair, aside, pulling up his own chair. "Would you like to congratulate me now or wait until I arrest the other three goons responsible for the Rayburn homicide?"

"How about I congratulate you at home tonight?" Blair asked, his voice low enough to avoid prying ears but more than adequate for Jim.

"With an incentive like that, I might just arrest half of Washington State by sundown," Jim responded, laughing.

"Hey, easy, man. I can only congratulate so many times before I pass out," Blair joked. Then he stared at the phone again. "Jim? You had a call."

"From?" Jim frowned at the monitor. "Who is this prince?" He nodded toward the screen, which bore the information on one of the men currently under suspicion for beating and sexually molesting his eight-year-old daughter.

"Ooh, nice rap sheet. I was hoping for one of those," Blair smiled evilly, leaning in even closer to Jim while he jotted down a few pertinent facts. "The asshole beats his kids, and his eight-year-old daughter says he's been molesting her."

"Oh, man." Jim shook his head. "That's just great."

"The kids' mother brought them in here yesterday, but she won't press charges unless I can promise her to make them stick."

"You can't promise that, Chief."

"No, I know. But I can at least let her know if we have a decent chance of painting a bad enough picture of him to keep him away from the kids. She said she didn't think he had a record. Cha-CHING!!" Blair let out that exclamation, and a few laughs rose from the other desks.

"Sandburg must've found a rap sheet he wanted," Rafe observed, chortling.

"We may just have found what we need to get a woman to press charges against a guy who's molesting one of his kids."

"Nice going, Sandburg," Henri spoke up.

"Yeah, well, we gotta get the complaint signed yet. And get through court and a few other fun things, but at least it's a start."

"Who was the phone call?" Jim asked.

"Oh... Jim, I think it was your mom."

"My...what did she say?" Jim frowned, looking skeptical.

"She said to tell you Grace Winslow called. Isn't that your mother's remarried name?"

"That's her," Jim said, leaning back in his chair. "Guess I should let her know that I can't fix parking tickets in London," he sniped, resuming his straighter posture and starting on his own work on the computer.

"Maybe she wants to see you."

"I wanted to see her too, about thirty years ago," Jim said abruptly. "But she wasn't interested then. And you know what? I'm not interested now."

"You were able to forgive your dad."

"My dad stuck around. He may not have been father of the year material, but he was there."

"People change sometimes--"

"You're right. Sometimes they do. And sometimes they feel bad about things when it's way too late. It's too late, Chief. End of story."

"Are you going to talk to her when she calls back?"

"Not if I can avoid it, no," Jim responded honestly.

"You want me to tell her that you don't want to talk to her?"

"I never pictured you offering to do my hatchet work," Jim responded, frowning.

"I love you. I know she hurt you...I don't want to give her another shot at it. If you don't want to talk to her, I'll tell her next time she calls."

"I'll handle it, sweetheart," Jim said softly, keeping the endearment low enough for Blair's ears only. Their relationship was no secret in practice, but it was the poorest kept secret in history where the brass were concerned, and Simon turned his head to Blair's frequent presence in the Bullpen provided both men conducted themselves professionally around each other.

"Okay. But I'm behind you either way, love. You know that."

"I always know that," Jim responded, smiling.

Satisfied that his participation in the budget process had managed to save the company a few million dollars, Bill left the corporate headquarters and drove over to the Cascade Mall. Christmas in crowded shopping malls wasn't high on his list of favorite things, but he was going to a Hanukkah dinner, and wanted to show up with something appropriate for the occasion.

After locating a parking spot using more strategic long-term planning than the budget required, Bill buttoned his long cashmere topcoat against the chill of the brisk wind and strode into the mall. Knowing he still had Christmas gifts to figure out for his sons, Blair, and Sally as well as a host of other, less personal items for friends and colleagues, he pushed that rather tiresome prospect aside and concentrated on the task at hand.

A host of brightly lit, noise-polluted stores assailed him from all sides with proclamations of huge percentage discounts on a myriad of items to suit every taste. Finally, he walked into the one less obtrusive store that carried a nice selection of gourmet baskets and food gifts. Maybe something for the dinner...but what do you take to a Kosher meal?

"Can I help you?" A girl with long blonde hair who sported nose and eyebrow piercings, wearing a red and white gingham checked apron approached him. //You'd only see something like that in a drug hallucination or a shopping mall,// Bill thought to himself.

"I'm looking for a Hanukkah gift. Do you have anything like that?"

"Actually, we do have a couple of gift sets right over here." She led him to a small display that housed a few boxes of assorted goodies, and a few good-sized baskets, all decorated in blue and silver, containing fruits, nuts, candies and other goodies. "These baskets are all Kosher, all filled with our gourmet candies and nuts, as well as some fresh fruits."

"Sounds like a good idea. I'll take one of those," he said, pointing at the largest of the displayed baskets. She hoisted one off the display with a little grunt and carried it to the counter.

"Good choice," she said as she began ringing it up. "My boyfriend's family is Jewish, and I'm getting them one of these for Hanukkah."

"My son's b...uh...partner is Jewish."

"This'll be my first Hanukkah," she said, smiling. "I don't know anything about it."

"I was planning on a little crash reading course on it myself this afternoon," Bill admitted, chuckling, handing over his credit card. She tapped in a few more numbers with her dark red painted nails and then scanned his card, handing it back to him.

"Your son married somebody Jewish, huh?"

"Yes," Bill said, figuring that even if it wasn't official, that's what Jim and Blair seemed to feel about their situation.

"How's he adjusting?"

"Blair's not really a practicing Kosher Jew, so it hasn't been much of a change. More like acquiring some new holidays," Bill said, signing the credit card slip, thanking God that Blair had a unisex name. Sometimes, fate smiled upon you...

"Jake is. Should be interesting," she said, smiling and taking the slip, bagging his purchase. "Have a nice Hanukkah and a Merry Christmas."

"Thanks, you too. Good luck with your boyfriend," he added, favorably impressed with the girl's pleasant manner despite her irregular appearance.

"Thanks. I'm pretty lucky to have him, so we'll work it out, I'm sure."

"Sounds like it," Bill said, smiling a little sadly.

There were times he felt like everyone had found their romantic niche in life except him. He'd made a poor choice the first time out, and had found himself more than a little gun-shy to try it again. With two boys to consider, dragging a succession of failed relationships in and out of their lives didn't seem right either. Steven was young enough when his mother left that he wanted to get attached to another mother figure. Jim was old enough that he'd been consciously stung by the first rejection and frankly didn't seem to like the idea of trying it again--not unlike his father's feelings on the subject.

So what would have been worse? Letting the younger child bond with various women and then having them all drift away? Or putting the older boy through the paces of putting up with a number of women whose very presence he resented? As for Bill himself, at the time, he'd preferred to leave the wound healed once Grace was gone, and not risk re-opening it for someone else. On one occasion, he'd tried again...thrown his all into it...and when it had fallen apart, he'd resolved that a relationship like that one was simply not meant to be in his life.

As he made his way back toward the entrance of the mall, he cast an eye around at all the bustling stores. He knew he should Christmas shop this year, not rely on sending out a few gift certificates in envelopes. This year, he would have Jimmy, Steven and Blair all under his roof for Christmas. It seemed cold to hand out money or certificates to his sons, and Blair was definitely not the kind of person you handed money at a holiday. For him, the primary importance in the gift was going to be the thought that went into it.

Using the weight of the heavy Hanukkah basket as an excuse, Bill procrastinated on the shopping concept and instead headed for his car, unloading his parcel into the passenger seat and then starting toward home.

"What time's my dad due over here, anyway?" Jim asked, entering the kitchen and checking out the various foods Blair was working on. "What are these?" he asked, frowning and sniffing.

"Now that you have the complete ingredient analysis up your nose, you want the official name?"

"Smart ass." Jim laughed and went to the back door, looking out at the dead garden, mentally assessing how much work it was going to be to clean it up in the spring.

"They're called peppermint crisps--they're made with chocolate and some other good stuff and then candy canes broken up and sprinkled on top. They're dessert, so hands off."

"Ah," Jim responded, nodding and moving closer to the dessert plate.

"No free samples, man."

"No free samples? Of anything?" Jim prodded, moving up behind Blair and wrapping his arms around him, nuzzling his neck.

"To answer your first question, your dad's due here any minute," Blair responded, grinning. "Save that thought," he admonished Jim as the doorbell rang.

"Maybe if we ignore him, he'll go home." Jim nipped at an earlobe.

"Go answer the door, lover," Blair responded, laughing. "Besides, ideally we oughtta be lighting the candles any minute." With a parting growl and a pat on Blair's butt, Jim grudgingly obeyed and made his way to the front door.

"I thought I had the wrong night for a minute there," Bill joked, smiling. Jim did a double take. Seeing his father smiling and holding a basket of food was not a regular occurrence.

"Come in, Dad. Sorry about that. I was helping Blair in the kitchen."

"I brought this...the girl in the store told me everything in it was Kosher. I know Blair doesn't really adhere to that most of the time, but I thought it would be appropriate considering the holiday."

"I think he'll really appreciate it." Jim smiled, leading his father back toward the kitchen, not accepting the package. "Why don't you give it to him yourself?" Jim lowered his voice. "Maybe if you're along I'll get samples of what he's brewing in his cauldrons."

The two Ellisons arrived in the kitchen, and Bill held out the basket again.

"Happy Hanukkah, Blair." Bill handed him the basket, and to say Blair looked stunned would have been an understatement. "It's supposed to all be Kosher, so I thought maybe it would be good for snacks later."

"That was really thoughtful," Blair said sincerely, smiling. "Thanks."

"So what's in the pots?" Bill asked, sniffing the air.

"At least you have to ask," Blair said, chortling. "He analyzes it better than the Forensics lab at the station just by sniffing the air. The big Dutch oven has a roast in it--it's called 'fruity pot roast'. You cook the meat with onions and carrots and tomatoes and then you add some raisins and apricots. The skillet is potato latkes."

"I've had those before," Bill spoke up. "You remember Paul and Donna Golden, right Jim?"

"Wasn't he the guy with the office right down the hall from yours--the one who had all the horse collectibles everywhere?"

"That was the one. He made these in the company cafeteria one noon during Hanukkah. They were great."

"I thought they were egg foo young," Jim added, giving the little potato cakes another once over. "That smelled like potatoes."

"When they're completely browned, they'll look more like hash browns. We should go light the candles. This stuff is at a point it can survive while I'm gone."

The three men adjourned to the living room, where the Menorah sat in the front window on a small table, covered with a white cloth.

"We keep throwing our keys on the floor--Jim moved this in here from by the back door. We come in that way from the garage and toss our keys in a basket we keep on the table. Well, no table, no basket," Blair explained, smiling and shaking his head.

"I thought you'd probably leave the lights out--get more effect from the candles," Bill commented as Blair turned on a light not far from the table.

"You aren't supposed to use the light from the Menorah. If it were dark in here, except for Jim, we'd be using the light to find our way around."

"There must be some significance to that candle in the middle--I notice it's always lit, from the first night on."

"This one is the service candle, or the Shamash," Blair explained. "You use it to light the other candles."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to give me a crash course in what this is all about, Blair. I know it has something to do about candles that burned for eight days, but that's about the extent of it," Bill said.

"Well, there was this Syrian king, Antiochus IV? He was really down on the Jews--prohibited studying the Torah, and a whole bunch of other restrictions. Anyway, when Judah the Maccabee and his followers reclaimed the temple in the village of Modi'in, and the sacred temple Menorah was relit, they only had enough sacred oil to burn for one day. Instead, the oil lasted for eight days, until they were able to get more. So you light a candle each night for eight nights to recognize that miracle. And the reason the Menorah is in plain view--like in a front window? That's part of publicizing the miracle."

"Tell him the bit about Judith and her cheese, Chief," Jim prodded.

"Judith and her cheese?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow. Blair smiled and happily recounted the story.

"Well, legend has it that there was this beautiful widow named Judith, who used wine and cheese to lure an enemy general into a drunken stupor so she could behead him. His soldiers fled in terror and that saved her people from the Assyrians."

"I hadn't hear that one before," Bill confirmed, smiling and shaking his head. "So is there something we're supposed to do or say when you light the candle?"

"Why don't you light it? It's the second night, so you'll be lighting two of them. I'll say the blessing." Blair lit the Shamash. "Take that one. You'll use it to light the other two." Bill took the candle as directed and waited. Jim came up behind Blair, sliding an arm around his shoulders. "I'm going to say the blessings in English, because my Hebrew is really spotty. I used to be able to do it when I was a kid, but I'm not too smooth with it now."

"Do I light anything yet?" Bill asked.

"Not yet. I'll give you the nod when, okay?" Blair paused. "Blessed are You, the Lord our God, King of the universe, Who sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light." Blair paused again, then continued. "Blessed are You, the Lord our God, King of the universe, Who wrought miracles for our forefathers, in those days at this season." Blair nodded, and Bill lit the first candle.

"We kindle these lights  
For the miracles and the wonders,  
For the redemption and the battles  
Which You performed for our forefathers  
In those days at this season,  
Through Your holy priests.  
During all eight days of Chanukah  
These lights are sacred  
And we are not permitted to make ordinary use of them,  
But only to look at them;  
In order to express thanks and praise to Your great Name For  
your miracles, Your wonders, and Your salvations."

At Blair's signal, Bill lit the second candle. All three men watched the small, dancing flames for a few moments, until Bill handed the Shamash back to Blair, who placed it in the center of the Menorah.  
"I've got some hors d'oeuvres in the kitchen." That was the only signal needed to move the party to the kitchen, where the table was set for a more informal meal with family. The dining room had become the setting for either large gatherings or more formal occasions. The warm, cozy kitchen with its cooking smells and picture window by the table was the favored spot for more relaxed get togethers.

"What are these?" Jim asked, sniffing. Blair watched both Ellisons eyeing the tuna gefilte fish like it was something delivered from another planet.

"Tuna gefilte fish," he supplied helpfully, turning the potato latkes. Taking mercy on the still-blank expressions, he added, "You take tuna and matza meal and onion and some other stuff and make it into those balls and chill it, then put it on the bed of lettuce."

"So these are cold tuna balls?" Jim summarized.

"Just shut up and eat one," Blair retorted in fond exasperation as he checked on the rest of the main course before joining the others at the table.

"They taste better than they sound," Bill opined, chewing his first one. "I've never actually celebrated a Jewish holiday before. This is pretty interesting."

"Actually, Hanukkah isn't the most significant one religiously--just the best known. I think because it comes near Christmas, and because of the tradition of exchanging gifts. Originally, the gifts were just little things for the kids. I think Jewish tradition sort of caught the December gift-giving fever, so now adults exchange gifts sometimes."

"So you have to buy him eight presents now instead of just one for Christmas?" Bill teased Jim. "Sounds like a good racket you've got going there, Blair."

"I tried to get Jim into the habit of little gifts." Blair smiled at his lover. "He spoils me rotten."

"I didn't think you were much of a gift shopper, Jimmy," Bill commented, going for another tuna ball. Jim had confessed in a weak moment that one of Carolyn's host of objections to him as a husband was his lack of imagination when it came to gift-giving.

"I am when I'm inspired," he said, taking a hold of Blair's hand where it rested on the table. "But then he conveniently doesn't mention the stash he's been hauling out for me the last couple nights. Not to mention the whole set-up downstairs."

"Downstairs?" Bill asked, frowning. While he had seen most of the main parts of the house, Jim hadn't taken him down to his sanctuary in the basement with the drums.

"You guys have time if you want to go downstairs," Blair said, munching on the appetizer. "About ten minutes to blastoff, I think."

This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.  
Home For Christmas

by Candy Apple  
Author's webpage: http://internetdump.com/users/candy_a

Author's notes and disclaimer can be found in part one.

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS - part two  
by Candy Apple

"Come on, Dad. I'll show you what I got for my last birthday." Jim got up and led the way downstairs. "Blair kept me out of the basement for a couple of weeks while he did this. I knew he was up to something--I could detect that it had to do with re-doing this area. I just didn't know what." Jim flipped on the lights and stepped aside as his father walked into the area that contained the bar, the grouping of comfortable furniture, the framed rock posters on the walls, the area rugs and, in the center of it all, the drum set.

"You, uh, play those?" Bill asked, obviously uneasy when confronted with the drums.

"Yeah. I really loved it when I was a kid, and Blair talked me into taking it up again. It's great stress relief. Blair plays guitar, so we have some fun with it." There was no reproach in Jim's voice, but Bill looked discomfited nonetheless.

"I didn't know you liked playing so well. I thought it was just a...teenage thing."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, when you were a kid. You were letting your hair get shaggier between haircuts, and playing the drums...I thought it was a rebellion thing, because you knew all that pounding drove me nuts when I was trying to work at home."

"Actually, I wasn't really thinking about that when I played. I guess I should have. I was probably pretty inconsiderate with banging away when you were on the phone and things like that."

"You were down in the basement. You wouldn't have known I was on the phone."

"I knew," Jim confessed, smiling a little. "Why do you think I went berserk with improvisation every time you said 'hello'?"

"Ah, now the truth comes out," Bill said, laughing a bit, the tension slightly broken.

"I didn't play the drums to irritate you--honest. It was just a nice fringe benefit sometimes," Jim added, chortling.

"Because I never gave you my attention otherwise, huh?" Bill surmised, shaking his head a little sadly.

"Dad, come on--"

"Look, Jimmy, I know I dropped the ball in a lot of ways. I'm sorry about the drum thing. I thought you were just doing it out of spite, or rebellion...when I got rid of those drums I never really believed that you loved the music. Of course to me, it didn't sound like music. It sounded like the surround sound version of 'The Telltale Heart'." Bill smiled and Jim had to laugh at that comment.

"I had music going, and I'd play along with it. So you thought I was just trying to piss you off, huh?"

"Basically."

"Did I do a good job?"

"You were a pro," Bill admitted, laughing and shaking his head. "Only occasionally out shined by your brother and a few of his dimwitted friends."

"I guess Steven went through a few wild times in high school."

"Mostly after you left. Jim, I was so wrong about so many things...the drums...and I wouldn't listen to you about the Cobra--"

"Steven played a big part in that mess too, Dad. You didn't have the straight story--well, at least, you had two conflicting stories. You had a 50-50 chance of picking the right one of us to believe."

"I should have known he'd be upset about that damn trip." Bill paced a bit, moving closer to the drums. "He told everyone he knew he was going to Europe. We'd made arrangements with the school for his assignments... Looking back, I should have put two and two together. You had no damn motive for cracking up the car, other than the fact I'd refused to let you use it to take your date out for Homecoming. Unless you were borderline psychotic, that wouldn't have been enough incentive."

"You know what they say about hindsight," Jim said, smiling and picking up one of the drumsticks.

"You'll have to play something for me sometime--something an old man can interpret as music and not heart palpitations."

"I'll see what I can do," Jim responded, still smiling and shaking his head.

"You didn't mention anything to your dad about the phone call," Blair said, wandering around the bedroom, stark naked, then rifling the drawer for clean boxers. Jim wasn't sure if Blair was really all that oblivious to what watching him bend over naked and search for underwear would do to his lover's libido, or if it was all a well-orchestrated seduction. When Blair straightened, holding his prize, Jim knew it was oblivion. Blair stepped into a worn old pair of plaid flannel boxers and then started looking for his sweats.

"You know, Chief, they say body heat is much more effective skin on skin," Jim said, smiling a little as he waited for Blair's reaction. It was the first time he'd ventured to make a remark like that to Blair in connection with him wandering around naked. After Blair's past experiences, it had taken a while before he'd gained the comfort level to be that open with another person, and Jim had never wanted to jeopardize that by making him feel as if he were being watched or leered at.

"Seems like I heard that somewhere before myself," Blair responded, tossing the t-shirt in his hand, back in the drawer. He turned to Jim and returned the grin. Making his way to the bed, he tugged the hair tie out of his hair and then paused before shaking the hair loose when Jim spoke.

"Let me take care of that, huh?" Jim held up the covers and Blair scooted under them happily. When he spotted that Jim wasn't wearing boxers, either, he wriggled out of his own and tossed them by the side of the bed, turning on his side with his back to Jim.

"Mmm. Feels good," Blair sighed as Jim's nimble, careful fingers carded through his hair, loosening it and spreading it on the pillow behind him. A moment later, Jim enclosed the smaller body with his own, spooning up behind Blair and kissing his shoulder.

"Love you, cuddlebug," Jim whispered in Blair's ear.

"Love you too, babe," Blair said, the smile plain in his voice. "This is nice."

"There's an understatement," Jim said, chortling.

"You didn't answer me about the phone call. You didn't say anything to your dad."

"You're right, I didn't. I don't plan to, because I don't plan on taking the call."

"What if she catches you on the phone?"

"That's what hanging up is for."

"She's your mother, Jim."

"That was an unfortunate accident of biology, Chief--not a role she played with any enthusiasm."

"You're working on forgiving your dad."

"Blair, don't push this, okay? I know you mean well, but this thing with my mother is not negotiable. She made her choice when she walked out on us. I was six years old, and Steven was only a little over two. She had no problem walking out the door and turning her back on us when we needed her. Truthfully, even when she was there, she wasn't worth a hell of a lot."

"Maybe she wants to make amends--"

"She wants to clear her conscience, or she wants something. Maybe she thinks it'll be a way to get back in with my father."

"You think maybe her marriage is on the rocks now?"

"Could be. Maybe he died. I don't know. I don't much care, either."

"Don't you want to at least talk to her?"

"No. You know, it's weird, but even when we were little and she was there...when one of us was up sick at night or had a nightmare, it was my dad who came in and checked on us." Jim sighed. "I can remember--and it's a really, really faint memory--but I can remember him coming into my room one night when I had a fever and was feeling really sick, and taking care of me for...well, what had to be hours. Looking back, I can't believe he had to do that... My mother wasn't working, she always slept late..."

"Why do you think your dad didn't remarry?"

"I don't know, Chief. I think he was married to his work, and I also think he was a little gun-shy after the first disaster."

"Probably. I'm sorry I pushed about your mom. I didn't mean to. I just know that this reconciliation with your dad has been a good thing for both of you--well, for all of us--and I didn't want to see you close the door on things with your mother if it might work out."

"I know, honey. I didn't mean to snap at you about it. Let's just forget it for now, okay?"

"Okay."

"How's your side feeling?" Jim asked, hand rubbing lazy circles on Blair's stomach.

"Better tonight. But...would you be real disappointed if we stayed like this? I mean, maybe if we waited to make love? This feels really good."

"I love being close to you, Chief. Either way." Jim squeezed him a little. "Anything wrong?"

"Nothing special. I guess that nightmare last night just left me in sort of a...funk. That's part of why I was piling on the layers before bed." Blair paused. "I'm sorry."

"For what? If you want to wear your winter coat to bed, you don't have to apologize for it."

"For not leveling with you. Dressing for the North Pole was sort of a sneaky way around telling you I still felt kind of...crawly."

"Do you want to put on your sweats, sweetheart? If so, go ahead. It's okay."

"This is really nice. It feels even better. But it's not fair."

"I'm enjoying it," Jim said, smiling and kissing Blair's cheek. "You feel good and you smell good."

"And you wanted to make love. I think the General was starting to come to attention," Blair quipped, referring to the large cock that was nestled happily between his cheeks.

"The General's happy to call 'lights out' for tonight." Jim rested his head against Blair's. "Saying 'no' is okay, remember?"

"It's still scary. Isn't that dumb? After all this time, it's still really hard to say that I'm not in the mood."

"It's not dumb. It was something you were made to feel you couldn't do for a long time. Undoing those habits is hard."

"You're too good to me. You spoil me rotten."

"I like spoiling you. You deserve it."

"I love you so much...it scares me sometimes, because I need you so much."

"I wouldn't make it too long without you, either, sweetheart. Now go to sleep, and think good thoughts. If anyone gives you a hard time in your nightmares, you just remember that I'm right here to kick his ass."

"I'll try to drill that into my subconscious," Blair replied, smiling and leaning back into Jim. "G'night, lover."

"'night, angel. Sleep tight." Jim felt the body in his arms relax, and kept watch over Blair until he slid into a deep, peaceful sleep. //You still need to test the waters sometimes, don't you, sweetheart?// Jim thought, feeling a little twinge of sadness in his heart. //Go ahead and give me all the tests you want. Nobody's ever going to hurt you again. Not like that. Not as long as I'm alive.//

Wishing he could follow Blair into that realm of dreams and keep him safe there too, Jim buried his nose in a few loose curls and let himself doze.

Blair stacked up the last of the term papers, the momentary panic sweeping over him that he would have to get them graded before this time next week. Not only were final projects due in December, but final exams followed, and to add to all that, people seemed more intent on beating each other up during the holidays, so the Domestic Violence Unit was working overtime. He'd been a little hesitant to return to Rainier for the partial teaching load, but the unexpected death of an aging faculty member had left them short-handed, and Blair wasn't sure their good will would last through him refusing to make time to help out, even if he had been scheduled for an unpaid, unofficial leave of absence.

Blair had to smile at the thought of how many off-duty hours Jim had given to the DVU project, despite the fact there was nothing in the budget to pay him overtime. Ever since the unpleasant outcome of the Ryker case, Jim had accompanied Blair on any home visits that might be the least bit dangerous, even if he waited in the truck. Fortunately, in the past few months, Jim had only had to interrupt one such visit due to mounting tensions.

Checking his watch, he noticed that he was running late for his next class. Cursing his pager as it beeped, he hurried out of the empty classroom and up to his office, dumping the papers on the desk and dialing the number of the DVU office.

"Yeah, it's me. What's up, Stacey?" Blair asked the social work student who was doing her internship as a volunteer at the unit. She handled a lot of clerical work as well as dealing with walk-ins until Blair or the licensed social worker was available.

"You're not going to like this."

"Great. What is it?

"Brenda's in the hospital--your 'discipline' couple, remember?"

"Damn. What happened?"

"She had a miscarriage."

"That jerk was hitting her while she was pregnant?"

"He didn't know. She just found out a couple weeks ago, and she didn't tell him because they agreed no kids, and she sort of...well, I guess she conveniently forgot to use contraception, and the rest is history. He spanked her, and a couple hours later, she had these really awful abdominal pains and bleeding and they rushed her in and she lost the baby. She's doing okay, I guess."

"Did they arrest him?"

"She won't--"

"Press charges, yeah, I know." Blair let out a long breath and slumped in his desk chair. "And the baby wasn't far enough along to call it a homicide."

"Right."

"Terrific. Just terrific. Can she have visitors?"

"I don't know all that. I just got the call from her sister."

"I wish she had managed to convince Brenda to get out of that situation before now."

"Brenda insisted it was her fault because she lied to him--not his fault for 'disciplining' her like he normally would." Stacey was quiet a moment. "How could she think it was her fault?"

"She approves of the spankings--says she's glad to have a man who can give her what she needs. So from her perspective, it wasn't wrong that he hit her--it was wrong that she didn't tell him she was pregnant, because then he could have behaved accordingly."

"Oh, yeah, right--probably just corner time and send her to bed without supper."

"You're preaching to the choir again, Stacey," Blair said, friendly reproach in his voice.

"Yeah, I know."

"Thanks for calling me. I have a class I'm late for right now, but it's only ninety minutes, and they won't object to getting out early. I'll head over there and see what's up."

"Okay. If you see that idiot Neanderthal she's married to--"

"I'll give him your best, along with my personal greetings," Blair added, smiling and hanging up the phone.

At the conclusion of a class that seemed to last forever, while only in fact lasted an hour, Blair dumped his paperwork in his office and headed for Cascade Memorial Hospital to see Brenda.

He had met the young woman when her sister, Janice, a senior at Rainier, had insisted that she meet with Blair and talk about her discipline lifestyle. Janice had been convinced that when Brenda saw the parallels between her own restrictions and punishments and the way Blair had been treated in a relationship that had escalated to near-fatal violence, she would be convinced to either end her recent marriage or go into counseling to eliminate the discipline aspect of it. The desired results had, unsurprisingly, not been achieved. Brenda had been very polite in meeting with Blair, but it was clear from the start she was only there to assuage her sister, and nothing Blair said seemed to make a difference. Brenda was convinced she was in a relationship that gave her what she needed, with a man who loved her.

As Blair rode up in the elevator, he realized that from Brenda's perspective, all of that was true. He'd done a lot of soul-searching before even meeting with her, since despite his own horrific experience, he had a strong respect for the lifestyle choices of others. The fact there didn't appear to be anything sexual about the discipline element bothered him, but more so the fact that the "spankings" were more like beatings, and left Brenda in pain for a considerable time after they were over. While he didn't personally agree with Brenda's choice to enter into a discipline situation, he wouldn't have interfered based on that alone. It had been Janice's insistence, and Brenda's admission, that the spankings were severe that had made him fear for the woman's safety.

Now she had miscarried as a result of one of these beatings, and probably would never be convinced to press charges for the death of her unborn child. Feeling depressed and burdened with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Blair made his way to the nurses' station, showed his Cascade PD identification as Director of the DVU, and was directed to Brenda's room.

"Blair, I'm glad you came," Janice said, as she pulled Brenda's door shut behind her. "She's asleep. I haven't called Mike yet."

"He doesn't know?"

"No. I know she won't press charges, but I thought maybe if you talked to her, maybe you could convince her."

"You want to sit down a minute and talk?" Blair gestured toward a waiting area several feet away. Janice nodded. "I think we have to be realistic about a few things."

"Like what?"

"Well," Blair began as they sat at opposite ends of a small couch, turning to face one another, "first off, please bear in mind that if it were up to me, I'd have Mike arrested and throw away the key. But I'm playing devil's advocate here. Suppose we arrest Mike for assault-- probably aggravated assault."

"What about the baby?"

"We can't go for charges in the death of the fetus because it wasn't developed enough to live outside the mother's body."

"That's bullshit." Janice turned and slumped back on the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. "That child will never be because of him."

"I agree. But we're talking about the law here."

"Okay, so we have to just accept the miscarriage as part of the assault charges."

"Right. But those aren't without problems too. One big one is your sister. If she won't press charges, and we have to charge him without her help, getting it to stick is going to be pretty tough. Getting the D.A. to even look at it is going to be tough. But if we get the green light and it goes to trial, and Brenda is sitting there telling everyone that she consented and approved of their lifestyle and it was her choice...I just don't see him getting convicted. And if he did, it would be surprising if he got more than a slap on the wrist."

"So this is hopeless."

"Not entirely. We might be able to prosecute without Brenda's help, but I just want you to understand that it's an uphill battle. We're in a weird realm here between investigating a crime and intruding on their private lifestyle."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you. You said you thought it was an abusive relationship."

"I do, but that's my opinion, not a legal judgement."

"He hits her until it leaves bruises, and he hit her hard enough to make her miscarry."

"I put a call in to Jim. I need his input on how to proceed with this one." Blair sighed. "Janice, I'm on your side. I think Brenda's being abused. She doesn't think so, and she consents to the beatings. That makes the legal end of things tricky, and starts calling her freedom of choice into question. I'm hoping the severity of the outcome is enough to proceed."

"You have to talk to her. Make her see that she has to press charges."

"I can't force her. Nobody could force me."

"You had reasons to be afraid for other people--you said yourself that you were ready to leave, that you would have if you weren't afraid of what he was going to do to your friends and your family."

"That's true. That was my motivation for not pressing charges, and maybe this...thing she has about being disciplined is hers."

"You know, I don't get it. Our parents didn't hit us, corporal punishment was outlawed in school by the time we went through...I just don't understand why this is an issue for her."

"Maybe it's an issue for Mike, and she's been convinced that it's good for her, that she needs it."

"Probably. His whole family are a bunch of Bible-thumpers. It wouldn't surprise me if his father beat his mother. I kind of get the impression they were extremists, and pretty patriarchal."

"Should I see if she's awake? I can try to talk to her."

"Please."

Blair pushed the door of the hospital room open and looked at the pretty blonde woman in the bed. She was pale, even her yellow hair a contrast with her white skin. Her eyes fluttered open at his arrival.

"Blair," she said quietly.

"Hey, Brenda," he responded softly. "How're you doing?"

"They've got me all...doped up," she said a bit regretfully.

"You understand what's going on?"

"Yes. This is all my fault. I should have told Mike about the baby."

"Brenda, has Mike ever threatened you about leaving? Said he'd do something bad if you left him?"

"No," she responded, shaking her head. "But I think maybe now--" she froze, her eyes riveted on the door. Blair turned to see her husband standing there. About six feet tall with dark hair and a mustache, he was dressed in a business suit, obviously having come from work.

"You again," he said, spotting Blair. "How about getting out of here so I can speak to my wife?"

"Brenda?" Blair looked at her, and to his surprise, she looked back at her husband.

"I want Blair to stay."

"I understand you're upset, princess, but we need some time to talk alone."

"I...I d-don't want this anymore." She watched him with panicked eyes.

"Bren, you've been through something awful, and you're on sedatives...you don't know what you're thinking just now."

"I don't want you to hit me anymore. Ever."

"This isn't something we should discuss now. And not with a stranger here."

"Blair's not a stranger to me. He's a friend."

"He's another case worker your sister dredged up to interfere in our lives."

"Mike, Brenda's in no condition to argue with you. But she does know what she wants, and she's told you. If you love her, I think you'll save the arguing for when she's better."

"You keep your mouth shut."

"I think I want you to go now, Mike," Brenda said hesitantly, looking at Blair more so than at her husband. There was a plea in that look. //Make him go away.// Blair felt those words as if she'd said them.

"Come on, Mike. Let's go outside and let Brenda rest."

"Take a hike. Brenda and I are going to work this out."

"Not while she's recovering you're not. She asked you to leave. I'm telling you." Blair straightened up all 5'8" and stared defiantly at the larger man.

"You're going to throw me out."

"If I have to." Blair silently prayed the other man wouldn't test the theory. While he had started taking a few martial arts lessons from a friend at the U, he wasn't very smooth at it yet.

"I'd like to see you try it, you scrawny little shit."

"Then you oughtta love seeing me try it," Jim spoke up from behind him. "Come on, Ace, hit the road." Jim gestured at the door with his thumb.

"Who the hell are you? The social services bouncer?"

"Detective Ellison, Major Crimes, Cascade PD." Jim flashed his ID. "I'm also Mr. Sandburg's police partner in the Domestic Violence Unit. One more word out of you and I'll throw your ass in a holding cell until you learn to control your big mouth. Now move."

The man assessed his options, then glanced back at his wife.

"This is what you want? These jerks splitting us up?" he demanded. She just turned away and worked hard to hold back tears.

"The door's this way," Jim prodded, waiting only a moment until Mike turned away from his wife and walked out the door, while Janice walked in.

"Stay with her. I want to see what's going on," Blair said to Janice, moving past her into the hall.

"I can't believe the cops can just walk in and interfere in people's lives like this. We have rights!"

"Look, your wife has rights, and she just told you to back off. I think you'd be smart to listen, because the D.A. is reviewing this case right now to determine if you're going to face charges--with or without Brenda's testimony. Beating a woman hard enough to make her miscarry is aggravated assault, my friend."

"I didn't know about the baby. How was I supposed to know she was pregnant?"

"The point is, if you hadn't been beating her with that kind of force and for that duration and number of blows, she wouldn't have miscarried. There's documented medical evidence on file now of the abuse you're dealing out. Now here's how things are going down. By the end of the day, I can have a restraining order against you to keep you away from her. Meanwhile, I have the option of letting you walk out of here, or holding you downtown."

"Fine. I'll go. But I'll be back."

"Don't leave town, Mr. Caldwell," Jim reminded as the other man headed for the exit. "We'll be in touch."

"You'll hear from my lawyer," he shot back.

"Good. You should be in touch with him under the circumstances." Jim watched the other man leave. "Asshole."

"Man, I'm glad you showed up when you did. I really didn't want to have a scene in there with Brenda. She's really weak."

"Listen, Tarzan, you better stop picking fights with guys bigger than you are."

"Hey, he picked the fight with me--and somebody had to stand up for Brenda."

"I know." Jim ran a hand over his face quickly. "You're going to get yourself killed by one of these nuts, Chief. You can't take them all on physically."

"I didn't want to, but I wasn't going to let him badger her."

"At least he's on his way for now."

"Did you mean what you said about the restraining order?"

"Absolutely. Having her cooperation would be helpful," Jim said, nodding toward Brenda's door.

"I think she's ready to be free of this situation. I just hope she doesn't backslide."

"I'll call Simon and see if we can get her some protection tonight. Meanwhile, tell her sister to be sure there's a safe place for her to go when she gets out of here--preferably with more than just Janice. There's safety in numbers. We can put her in a safe house, but since she's recovering, she'd be better off in a familiar setting, I think."

"Yeah, you're right. Her parents live in Tacoma, so maybe she could stay with them. Her younger brother still lives at home. He's on the college football team there."

"Sounds like she'd have some good back-up there. See if Janice can set that up. I'll head downtown and check in with the D.A. Hopefully I'll have some good news."

"I'll wait here until the guard arrives."

"Okay. Remember, Chief, no heroics. If Caldwell comes back here, you call hospital security and then you call me. Got it?"

"I got it." Blair was quiet as Jim started to walk away. "Hey."

"Yeah?" Jim turned around, pausing in his trek toward the elevator.

"I love you a lot," Blair said softly, and Jim smiled broadly.

"Yeah, same here, Chief. Be careful."

"You too." Blair sat in a nearby chair and let out a sigh of relief that there was some help in sight for Brenda--and offered up his own little thanks that he had Jim.

Slumped on the couch in old sweats, watching a re-run of one of the old Police Academy movies, Blair finally felt himself relaxing from the tensions of the day. Brenda was in stable condition and would probably be released from the hospital in a few days. After a little more gentle coaxing from her sister, she had signed a complaint against her husband, and Jim had enjoyed the singular pleasure of arriving at Mike's office and escorting him out in handcuffs. Blair had enjoyed the singular pleasure of watching the process.

The doorbell was not a welcome intrusion, but it was obviously going to fall to Blair to answer it, since Jim was snoring steadily in his corner of the couch and only snorted and shifted a bit at the sound of the bell. For a sentinel, he could sleep like a corpse when it suited him. Grumbling, Blair got up and padded to the door in his stocking feet. Peering out the peephole in the new windowless, solid oak front doors they had installed for security reasons, Blair frowned at what he saw. A tall, elegant woman in an obviously expensive long black coat stood there, the large pin on her coat catching the light of the porch lamps. Her gray hair was upswept somewhat dramatically.

"Damn," he muttered, suddenly realizing that this could only be one person. The tall, straight stature, the bearing, the features... The doorbell rang again.

"Who is it, Chief?" Jim asked, coming down the hall from the TV room, concerned at Blair's hesitation to open it.

"Look. I...Jim I think it's your mom."

"What?" Jim looked out the peephole. "Oh, shit."

"We can't just leave her out there."

"Why not? She can't see us."

"I turned the porch lights on, remember?"

"Oh." Jim sighed.

"You want me to get rid of her?"

"No. I'll handle this." Jim smoothed his hair back and swung open the door. "Mother," he said, coolly.

"Jimmy," she said a bit stiffly, seeming terribly uneasy with the whole encounter. "I'm sorry to drop by unannounced, but I tried calling you several times, and your father was not the least bit helpful when I tried to reach you through him."

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't understand," she responded, confused. "May I step in?" she asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. Jim stepped back, and she entered, removing her black leather gloves. She opened her mouth to speak and then looked at Blair as if she had just spotted an alien, closing it again. "I didn't know you had guests."

"Blair's not a guest, Mother. We live together." Jim took a hold of Blair's left wrist and held up the hand bearing the wedding ring, and held up his own at the same time.

"My God," she said, quietly, blinking. "William never told me..."

"That I got married again? You weren't interested when I got married the first time."

"Married?" She looked from Jim to Blair, and back again. Then, as if dismissing a notion too bizarre or troublesome to be dealt with, she shook her head. "Would it be possible for us to talk in private?"

"I don't have any secrets from Blair. You can say whatever you want in front of him."

"Jim, it's okay. I've got a mountain of exams to grade, and I really ought to put some time in on that tonight anyway."

"You don't have to--" Jim was cut off by Blair's hand, gently resting on his forearm.

"I don't mind. I need to get some work done anyway." He looked at Jim's mother, wishing he could say something to her--something along the lines of, "hurt him again and I'll make you regret it", but he refrained, and simply continued through the entry hall and into his office, closing the door behind him.

"I take it he's a teacher of some sort?"

"A professor of Anthropology at Rainier University, and Director of the Cascade PD Domestic Violence Unit. I guess you could call that being 'a teacher of some sort," Jim used his mother's same condescending tone on the last two words.

"The house is quite lovely. Have you lived here long?"

"A while." Jim gestured toward the living room, resigned now to having this encounter whether he wanted it or not. Grace glided into the large room and began unbuttoning her coat, which Jim realized was his cue to take it from her. He did so silently, along with the obscenely soft leather gloves, and placed them neatly over the arm of the sofa. Noting the contrast between her neat cranberry-colored two-piece suit and high heels, and his own sweatshirt, faded jeans and socks, he took a seat in the chair opposite the one she chose.

"So you're back on chummy terms with Bill again," she said, crossing her long legs. Over 60 now, she was still a stunning woman, and Jim imagined she still turned heads wherever she went.

"I guess you could say that. Look, Mother, I would really appreciate it if you would cut to the chase here. You haven't been interested in seeing me in almost 35 years." Jim paused, frowning and shrugging a little. "Why now?"

"I wanted to see you."

"Well, now you've seen me," Jim concluded, nodding.

"When did you...how long...?" She struggled over what was obviously a question about Blair, about their lifestyle, as she inclined her head toward the door of the living room, in the direction of the entry hall and Blair's office.

"We've been together almost six years now, and we've been married for over two of those years."

"You can't be married to another man, Jimmy. It isn't legal."

"It's official in every way that counts. It's official to us, and that's what's important here."

"You're gay."

"I'm in love with and committed to Blair. He happens to be male. If that makes me gay, fine, I'm gay, if you need a label for it."

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said, seeming to pull in her claws, as if she felt her purposes would be better served by courtesy. "Owen passed away in September."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you?" At Jim's annoyed expression, she hastened to add, "I'm sorry--I was just surprised that you could express sympathy under the circumstances."

"So you're traveling around now and renewing old relationships, is that it?"

"While Owen was alive, we had a wonderful life together. It seemed as if we barely could get a moment for ourselves, with all the social events and commitments we had. And now that he's gone...I...I find myself alone a very great deal. I've had time to think, to remember some things..."

"I fit into your day planner now, is that it?"

"It's not like that. I suppose it would sound that way." She stood and started pacing a little. "I've never been truly alone, Jimmy. I'm finding that I don't enjoy it."

"Well, it's only been three months, Mother. I'm sure you'll land another rich one after a respectable time has passed."

"That's a horrible thing to say," she admonished, but didn't turn to face him. "I loved Owen."

"Did you? Then I am sorry," Jim said sincerely. "I'm sorry you lost someone you love. I'm sorry to hear that about anyone. But it doesn't change anything between us. Probably because there isn't anything between us."

"I'm your mother." She turned to face him, a sort of horrified surprise on her face as if he'd said something truly shocking.

"Yeah, I thought so too...when I was six." Jim rose also now. "When I was six and you walked out the door without so much as a backward glance and left Dad with two little boys to raise by himself. You know, I've really spent a lot of time resenting the hell out of him for all the mistakes he made with us--but you want to know what it boils down to? For better or worse, he was there. He raised us. He stuck around. Even when you were there, I don't remember you ever being there for me when something was wrong. You want to know what I remember? Trying to do something good enough to get your attention!" Jim shot out angrily.

"I always thought you were a wonderful little boy--"

"Oh, get off it, Mother. You liked the concept of having children. It was socially correct. When I was sick or had a nightmare, or I fell got scraped up and it was messy, you want to know who was there for me? Dad or Sally. For all the...negative things he may have done, Dad was more of a parent than you could have ever been, and Sally was more a mother to me than you ever wanted to be. You want to know when you noticed me? When I made you some stupid clay statue, or when I said something precocious that amused one of your socialite friends."

"I did love you--I do love you."

"Maybe that's what's most pathetic about this. Maybe that's as deeply as you can love anyone. You love them when they please you."

"That isn't true! God knows I'm not pleased to show up here and find my son shacked up with another man, but that doesn't change the fact that I lo--"

"I think you remember the way to the door," Jim stated calmly, but firmly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"For the first time tonight, we agree on something." Jim let out a long, exasperated breath. "I'm sorry that you're a widow now, and I'm sorry that you've hit a snag in your plan. But that doesn't build or create a relationship between us where there never has been one."

"I'm only asking for the same chance you're giving your father."

"My father never left. My father may not have been perfect, but you know what? When Steven and I were kids, we always knew he was going to stay with us. We never worried that he'd go on a business trip and never come home. We never had to say good bye to him at the front door a week before Christmas, for God's sake!" Jim shouted, hating that there as a tremor in his voice on the last words. "Do you know what it's like to be six years old and try to figure out a way to make your two-year-old brother stop crying because your mother is walking out the door? Do you know how fast you grow up when you overhear your mother giving your father divorce notice, and shoving you off on him at the same time?"

"Oh, Jimmy, I'm so sorry," she said, a little of her smooth exterior faltering. She moved a couple of steps toward him, but he held up a forestalling hand with a humorless little smile.

"Don't. What I wanted from you at six and what I want from you now are two different things."

"What can I do to make it up to you? To make things right between us?"

"You never liked me, Mother. That's the part of this that still haunts me. I'm standing here, looking at you, dumb enough to think that maybe I should fall for this lonely widow routine you've perfected, and then I realize, you never liked me. I was an annoyance because I was different."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she shot back defensively.

"The nights I was awake because I heard things no one else did, the times I was afraid of some noise no one could identify because they couldn't hear it. The times I overheard something you said and then said something in front of Dad that made you angry--you didn't like me, Mother. Not from the start."

"You were a difficult child, Jim. I won't deny that." She looked at him for a long moment. "I didn't know how to deal with you."

"So you dumped me, along with Steven. You didn't even want us to visit you."

"You visited us in England."

"Once. We spent a short vacation with you and Owen one summer, and all I recall was getting the feeling we were in Owen's way the entire time--and I don't remember being asked back again. What I remember is my father not being able to get you to take us off his hands for a couple weeks when Sally was going to be out of town and not there to take care of us."

"I don't remember what you're talking about."

"You need a date? It was 1972."

"That was almost thirty years ago," she said, shaking her head. "How am I supposed to remember one argument with Bill thirty years later?"

"Look, I don't really have any desire to travel down memory lane with you. I'm sorry that I can't give you what you're looking for, but frankly, any feelings I had for you died when you walked out on us."

"So that's it? There's no forgiveness? My being your mother doesn't mean anything to you?"

"When it mattered to me, it didn't mean anything to you. That's the part I just can't forget." Jim took a deep breath. "It's late, I have to be up early tomorrow...I'd appreciate it if you'd go now." He picked up her coat and held it, and she moved to slide her arms into it. As soon as it was on her shoulders, she turned around, as if she hoped to embrace Jim. He stepped back.

"I thought maybe all these years later, you could forgive me." She searched his face with a certain hopefulness.

"This isn't about holding grudges anymore, Mother. I just don't have the feelings you want me to have. I'm not interested in trying to get them back. If you'd come home when I was six, I would have been delighted. But that was a long time ago, and sometimes, you can't go back and recapture what you gave away in the past."

"I'll be in town a few more days." She took a card out of her small handbag and held it out at Jim.

"Ah, you have a cell phone number, I see," he said, taking the card and reading over it.

"Yes. It's a good security measure for a woman traveling alone." She paused. "Please, if you change your mind, call me." She pulled on her gloves and headed for the door, with Jim behind her. As she opened it, and stood there next to it, she looked back. Jim was staring at her, as if lost in his own thoughts. "What is it, Jimmy?" she asked, frowning.

"You standing in the doorway, on your way out, next to a door with a wreath on it...it's a very familiar picture." Jim held her gaze a moment longer. "Goodbye, Mother."

She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something else, and then pulled the door closed quietly behind her.

A moment later, Blair emerged from his office.

"I heard the front door." He paused just outside the doorway. "Is everything okay?"

Jim crossed the entry way in a couple of strides and pulled Blair into a tight embrace. He held on for a long time in silence until he whispered against Blair's ear, "Let's go upstairs."

Without further discussion, the two men turned off lights, checked locks and finally headed upstairs to their bedroom. Jim plunged his hands into Blair's hair, claiming and devouring his mouth as Blair's hands tugged at the bottom of Jim's sweatshirt.

They clumsily undressed each other, hesitant to give up the connection of their mouths long enough to discard the clothing. Falling back on the mattress, Jim gathered Blair into a tight embrace, returning to the succulent mouth for another bout of deep, prolonged kissing until Blair finally pulled back a bit, gasping for breath. Jim licked the slightly swollen lips with the tip of his tongue, then plundered them again while his hands kneaded the firm globes of Blair's ass.

"Love you," Blair breathed into Jim's ear the moment his mouth was released.

Something in the back of Jim's mind told him that he wasn't giving Blair much time to recover from one onslaught of kissing to the next, and that he was giving him little chance to participate. Still, the need spurred him on, and at that moment, he feared nothing more than Blair's rejection. If this would be a night Blair wanted to say no, Jim didn't think he could bear it, and yet, if he heard the word, he would always obey it. Blair had to be too obliterated with pleasure to even consider it...

"Jim, love, slow down," Blair managed, getting gentle hand on either side of Jim's face and moving it up from the nipple Jim's mouth had begun to torment. "Look at me. Relax, lover. I want you too."

"I need you, baby," Jim muttered, then pounced for another long kiss.

"Hey, come on, love. I need you too, and I love you. And I want you inside me. I'm not going anywhere...and I'm not going to refuse you." Blair smiled at Jim's stunned expression. //Having your mind read during foreplay can be unnerving//, Blair thought, smiling at his lover.

"I love you, sweetheart," Jim said in a strained voice, kissing Blair again, more gently this time, his whole body seeming to lose its tautness as he relaxed into making love to Blair.

He sucked nipples to pebble-hard peaks, he peppered Blair's body with wet, sucking kisses, moving in a wet path down to Blair's navel, teasing it with his tongue. He nuzzled his lover's groin, moving down to lick and suck at the ovals there, dragging moans of pleasure from Blair as he lay there, relishing the onslaught.

Ignoring the erect shaft begging for his attention, Jim dipped lower, licking and sucking at the tender skin of Blair's perineum, knowing how crazy it made him, smiling as Blair grabbed onto his knees and pulled them back, opening himself, shamelessly eager for more stimulation.

Blair groaned loudly as Jim dragged a hot, wet tongue in long laps over his center, wetting the little pucker and teasing it before going to work at giving Blair one of the most ardent tongue-fuckings of his life. In that moment, Blair came close to knowing what it was like for Jim to zone on something. That hot, wet, insistent invader claiming his most sensitive, secret place with such exuberance was the only thing in his consciousness, the center of every nerve ending in his body.

When Jim finally withdrew, it was only long enough to grab the lube, gently but efficiently adding the slippery stuff and a bit more aggressive stretching with eager fingers. In some tiny part of his brain, Blair wondered what it said about him that his universe was, at that moment, completely centered on his eager, needy hole, and the passion to feel Jim fill it.

//It means Jim's one hell of a lover,// his subconscious provided helpfully, and Blair settled back on the mattress, relaxed and happy in his shamelessness once more, pulling his knees back even farther, writhing down on Jim's fingers.

"You're ready for me, baby," Jim breathed. It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact, and Blair was in no mood to deny it.

Jim coated himself with the slippery gel and lined up with Blair's center, then eased himself in slowly, grunting and biting his lip a little at the sensation of the slick, hot tightness engulfing him. When he was fully sheathed, he guided Blair's legs over his shoulders and started pumping, watching the sweat breaking out on Blair's forehead, losing himself in the sounds of Blair's moans and the wet, slick sounds of their sex.

For this once, he wasn't trying to give Blair words of love. Blair already knew he was treasured beyond what any words could say. This was one of the rare occasions that Jim gave into pure lust, relishing the sounds, sights and smells of sex without distracting himself from it in any way. Judging by the way Blair screamed his name each time Jim hit his prostate, he was enjoying himself just as much.

Blair threw his head back and screamed out Jim's name, riding the tide of the electric jolts that coursed through his body each time Jim nailed his prostate. It had taken Blair a long time to reach a point where he could appreciate, and delight in, a thorough, intense fucking, but he was there now, and as he grabbed onto the headboard above his head and let out an animal-like wail, proof of that delight shot in a white stream over Jim's chest and belly.

Spurred by Blair's orgasm, and the clenching of his internal muscles, Jim sped up his thrusts a bit, finally reaching his own climax, filling Blair, and barely managing to support himself on his arms long enough soften and slip free of the hot tunnel that had dragged such a wonderfully fulfilling completion out of him. Guiding Blair's legs back down to rest on the mattress, Jim moved up and gathered his sated lover in his arms.

"I love you, baby," he whispered into Blair's ear, nosing and nuzzling the rumpled curls nearby.

"I love you too, lover." Blair wound a leg around Jim's pulling them closer. "Mmm...that was so good."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Jim responded, grinning. Blair chortled at that, running his foot up and down Jim's calf.

"I'm sorry things didn't go so well with your mom," Blair said quietly.

"That wasn't what this was about. I didn't use you, sweetheart. I never would do that."

"Hey, come on, don't worry about that." Blair pulled back. "There's nothing wrong with a little positive affirmation and love to heal something that hurts. That's not using me." Blair pinned Jim with an intent gaze. "How often has our sex been about healing me somehow? Did you think I was using you all those times?"

"Never, of course not."

"Okay then. When the rest of the world shits on us, we come here to make it better--to each other. We get what we need here--love, holding, talking, sex--whatever we need to heal up from the wounds we get out there. You taught me that, Jim--you taught me that loving somebody...when it's right and healthy and good...that it creates this... safe place, where you can go when you're hurting or you're scared or when you need something...and that love, it takes care of you and gives you what you need." Blair paused, running a hand over Jim's chest. "I was so...scarred when you got me back...and afraid. You showed me that our love was a safe place, where someone who loved me would take care of me and make the hurts better. That goes both ways, Jim. I'm strong enough now to do that for you too."

"You do it all the time, Chief. Every minute I have you."

"Let's try to leave all the hurts outside for now, and think about each other, and sleep, huh? We'll talk things through tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Jim replied drowsily, snuggling in closer. "Love you, cuddlebug."

"Love you, babe. Sleep tight." Blair stroked the back of Jim's head, willing the angst to drain away and let him rest.

In moments, both men were sleeping in each other's arms.

"I smell bacon," Jim sighed, smiling, not opening his eyes yet. "I smell eggs...I smell Blair," he concluded, grinning wickedly. Blair chuckled a little as Jim opened his eyes and took in the sight of Blair in his favorite old plaid robe, holding a tray laden with breakfast goodies.

"I figured you'd need to replenish your protein supply," he quipped, setting the tray in place as Jim sat up, hastening to stuff pillows behind his lover's back.

"What service," Jim said, looking over the repast. "So what did I do to merit this?" Blair just raised an eyebrow and grinned a little wickedly. "That good, huh?" Jim gloated, chuckling, digging into the food. Then he froze. "What time is it?"

"Eight. Don't panic. I called Simon. If he asks, we had to have a service call on the furnace."

"Cops can check these things out you know."

"Yeah, like he's going to call the utility company and ask," Blair retorted, snorting a little laugh. "You were sleeping so soundly, and when I came around before the alarm went off, I didn't have the heart to wake you up."

"You ate already?"

"I had a shake. That bagel's mine, though." Blair picked up the small plate bearing the tomato basil bagel with its light coating of cream cheese. "Do you want to talk about last night?"

"Last night? If you want to talk to me about that, lose the tray and the robe."

"I meant your mom coming over." Blair smiled as he chewed his first bite.

"I suppose you think I should forgive her and welcome her into my life with open arms." Jim started in on his eggs, apparently unruffled by the subject matter.

"No, I don't think you should do anything specific. I think you have to do what feels right. I just thought you might want to talk about it." Blair took another bite of his bagel, then stole a drink of Jim's orange juice, having forgotten a beverage for himself.

"She dumped us over thirty years ago. You know, I tried real hard to care that she was alone, or unhappy...but it just didn't happen. It's like the feeling is just dead."

"What made her show up now?"

"You didn't overhear anything?"

"I was in my office, with the door closed. Some of us can't hear through a layer of solid oak and a about eight yards of distance."

"Her husband died this fall, and she's at loose ends, and doesn't like being alone, and so now she's here to play the mother role and just slip back into the family like nothing ever happened."

"Has she seen Steven yet?"

"I don't think so. I hope she does go see him, because maybe he'll still want to strike something up with her. I don't begrudge him doing it if he wants to, or it makes him happy. I was older when she dumped us. I was old enough to...feel dumped."

"He just missed his mother," Blair surmised, nodding.

"He was miserable for months after she left. He was only two. He didn't get it. It was like a death. She just wasn't there anymore. For me, I knew she had chosen to walk away. It's weird to feel like you've been divorced at six."

"Did she ever explain...why?"

"She apologized all over the place, except to say that she had enjoyed a wonderful life with Owen. It's weird," Jim said, shaking his head and chuckling a little. "She reminds me of some of the street hoods I've busted. They're so sorry. Not sorry they did the deed, just sorry they got busted. She's not sorry she dumped us and moved to England. Just sorry that we don't accept her back with open arms now."

"For what it's worth, I don't blame you for not just taking her back with open arms. She hurt you, and deserted you...I'm not saying you shouldn't reconcile with her if it would bring you some happiness, but I'm also saying that I don't think there's anything wrong with not taking another painful ride with her."

"I used to zone out when I was little. It's funny, but I didn't really remember that until I was talking with her last night."

"Who brought you out of it?" Blair frowned.

"Most of the time, I just got in trouble for daydreaming. The times I was really out of it, usually Sally or my father would bring me out of it. My dad took me to a child psychologist once to have me evaluated...God, I haven't thought about that in years...it was soon after my mother left. I guess I thought he was doing it to see if I was handling that all right. Must've been for the zone outs."

"Everything checked out normal?"

"Oddly enough, yeah. I guess. I didn't end up labeled with any disorder."

"You zoned out with your mom, too?"

"That must have been what it was. I was never really sure when I was little--just that I was out of touch for a while. I must have learned to control that as I got older."

"I wonder if a sentinel who isn't traumatized into repressing his abilities has built-in mechanisms to learn to cope with the whole zone-out factor?"

"Maybe. I don't know. At any rate, my mother's solution was to get mad. I remember more than once coming to and she was slapping me or spanking me or something, and I didn't understand why."

"Dammit." Blair set his partially full plate back on the tray. "Damn her. I'm sorry, Jim, but that just...UGH!" Blair grunted in angry frustration, as he sat on the edge of the bed, visibly seething with anger. "I'm damn glad I didn't know that last night."

"Probably lucky for her, huh?" Jim said, smiling a little.

"Was she that clueless or just that mean-spirited? I mean, even if she didn't understand the sentinel thing, that could have been the sign of some serious behavioral or developmental problem in a child. To hit a kid in that situation... Dammit!" Blair got up and started pacing. "Did your father do that too?"

"No. I don't ever remember him hitting me for that...actually, he almost never hit me at all. He might have slapped me once when I was a teenager, but if I'm recalling the incident correctly, I had it coming. Telling your father 'up yours' is a pretty good invitation for that response."

"At least he wasn't a hitter," Blair said, settling down on the bed again. "I don't know if I could stand him if I knew he'd hit you or hurt you that way."

"He wasn't into physical punishments. I was never afraid of him that way...neither was Steven. Don't get me wrong--he could make you think of beatings with a certain fond longing with what he did come up with, but he wasn't a hitter."

"Mind games mostly, huh?"

"Well, yeah, or losing privileges or allowances or taking on some extra chore you really hated doing for a while. Actually, pretty much like real life consequences for screwing up." Jim polished off the last bite of his eggs and chased it with some coffee.

"Too bad your mom didn't get interested in mending fences before now," Blair said, moving the empty tray carefully over to the floor, out of harm's way. He climbed back up on the bed and snuggled into Jim's open arms.

"Thanks for organizing this little break for me, sweetheart." Jim leaned his head against Blair's, taking in the scents of soap and shampoo and clean Blair, regretting just a little that sweaty, sex-stained, bed-warmed Blair had showered already.

"Almond."

"Hm?" Jim asked, his sniffer still busy checking out the curls nearby.

"The shampoo. It has an almond scent. I can hear you sniffing it, man," Blair accused, smiling broadly.

"I never asked you if you were okay last night. Was I too rough?"

"Nope." Blair sighed contentedly, fighting the urge to doze off again. He had a full agenda ahead of him as soon as his day got rolling, and he didn't have time for the luxury of another long nap. "Did you hear any complaints?"

"I heard a whole lot, but not much that sounded like complaints," Jim teased. He felt Blair's face flush a little, though the other man still laughed.

"Guilty as charged."

"I love listening to you when we make love. Knowing I'm making you feel that way." Jim tilted Blair's face up for a long kiss. "It turns me on to hear you making all those love noises for me."

"You know what was kind of nice last night?"

"Everything?"

"Well, yeah, but one of the standout things," Blair corrected, smiling.

"What?"

"You didn't ask me if I was okay. You didn't hold back or worry about tearing me."

"I always worry about that, honey."

"I know--you're always gentle with me, and you don't hurt me. I just mean that it felt like, for the first time, you were really taking what you wanted and needed, full speed ahead, and trusting me to be able to handle it, or if I couldn't, to say so."

"I never want you to feel with me the way you did with--"

"No." Blair covered Jim's mouth with four fingers and held them there. "Don't ever make a comparison, because there is none." He moved the fingers and stretched up for another kiss. "You couldn't resemble him on your worst day...times ten."

"I didn't give you much chance to say anything."

"I had all the time I needed to say 'no', or to let you know it hurt, and I didn't want to say either thing. It felt great, and it was hot and intense and wonderful. It was the first time I really let loose and enjoyed getting drilled, and the first time you...well...drilled me."

"I guess part of me has always been afraid that it would hurt, and remind you, or upset you, and I never want that to happen."

"Making love with you reminds me of why it was worth living through that mess. It reminds me why I'm doing what I'm doing with the DVU, even though my schedule is like, bizarre." Blair sighed contentedly, smiling again. "Besides, I trust you totally. I know that you're always tuned in to me in a way no one else ever could be--and probably beyond what anyone else would ever care to be--so I can relax and enjoy myself and not worry about getting hurt."

"Never worry about that with me." Jim squeezed Blair a little tighter, then relaxed his hold a bit, still keeping his lover snuggled against him. "You did good with Brenda's case, Chief."

"I wish it had been in time to save the baby."

"That had to be her decision--you know that. But she made it, and it was your moral support that turned the tide."

"There's this part of me that feels really uncomfortable with that whole case. Sometimes I feel like I was...peeping into their lives, interfering with their private choices. You know, she said everything was fine, and the way she wanted it, and I kept hounding her. I mean, I see now that it was a bad situation, that she did get seriously hurt. But being right about this one case...it's still hard to determine where the line is."

"You just have to use your judgement. You did, and you were right. Besides, working with domestic violence from your job with the DVU is different than what a cop's approach would be. Unless the victim cooperates, we can't help--barring a homicide. But you have the latitude to stay involved longer, maintain some communication... Besides, I know you, Chief. You respect people. You wouldn't impose your values on someone else."

"I try not to. Then sometimes I think I was too wishy-washy, and should have badgered her more, and maybe this wouldn't have happened."

"She would have shut you out totally, most likely."

"Yeah, maybe."

"So what time is the furnace guy going to be here?" Jim asked, smiling down at Blair, who chuckled.

"Nine. But they're notorious for being really, really late." Blair climbed on top of his lover. "Really late."

Bill wandered into the living room with his morning coffee, admiring again the festive Christmas decorations, and smiling at the memory of putting them up several nights earlier. He glanced at the mantel, noticing the absence of family photos there. He'd been unable to ignore the hodge-podge of photos on Jim's and Blair's mantel when he visited the house last. There were many of the two of them together, some of friends, a few photos of relatives... One shot of Jim with Steven.

//You had your chance to earn a place on the mantel or a place on the Board of Directors.//

Ignoring the barbed remark from his increasingly annoying inner voice, Bill sat in a comfortable chair and opened The Wall Street Journal, scanning the news items there, looking for something that would make for sparkling conversation over lunch with the stodgy old fart he hoped to shake down for a grant to the CAC for next year's concert series. Suddenly bored beyond comprehension, he tossed the weighty paper aside and leaned back in his chair, sighing.

Removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose, he glanced at the discarded paper.

//Screw it.//

He got up and went to the hall closet, donning the stadium jacket Steven had bought him for Christmas the previous year. It had been his younger son's attempt to get him out of dress topcoats, and this morning, the mood struck him to eschew that look entirely.

"I'm going out, Sally!" he called as he headed for the door.

"Don't forget your lunch with Mr. Dickenson!" she called from the kitchen.

"Thank you, Sally," Bill retorted, already formulating a plausible sounding excuse in his mind to free himself from the impending luncheon.

Jim worked hard to maintain his concentration on the computer screen in front of him. The residual tingle from Blair's morning payback for the night before didn't qualify as discomfort, but the impending hard-on it to which it was contributing heavily, was. Wondering if he could finagle a long lunch hour after missing most of the morning, he looked at his workload and dismissed that thought. It was Christmas season, and the nuts were all out in full force, raping and pillaging like they did every year at this time.

"Jimmy?"

Jim turned around in his desk chair, stunned to see his father standing there. He was even more stunned to see him dressed in a casual coat, jeans and athletic shoes. He hadn't seen him in that sort of garb since Bill was in his late thirties, visiting a horse farm to pick out a couple animals for his sons.

"Hi, Dad," Jim responded. "You get busted for shoplifting or something?" Jim joked, and Bill chuckled at that.

"I thought you might be free for lunch. If you're too busy, that's fine."

Jim was thrown not only by the unexpected invitation, but by the irony of having his father there, asking him to do something, acknowledging Jim's busy schedule as a possible stumbling block.

"Well, I was late getting in this morning--"

"That's fine, I understand. I should have called earlier. I was just in the area, and--"

"You mind going somewhere close? I'll have to keep it to a short lunch hour, but we could grab some Chinese or something handy."

"Sounds great," Bill said genuinely, smiling.

"I'll be right back. Have a seat, Dad. Don't let anyone book you 'til I get back," Jim quipped as his father occupied the chair where the suspects usually sat, next to Jim's desk.

"I'll tell them I'm your collar," he retorted.

Jim poked his head in Simon's office, figuring that another disappearance would probably merit some explanation.

"Simon, my father's here and wants me to have lunch with him. I'm going to run out someplace close by."

"Your father?" Simon looked up, surprised.

"Yeah," Jim responded, finding himself smiling a little. "He just stopped in to see if I could get away for a while."

"I think we can hold down the fort here until you get back."

"Thanks, Simon."

The two Ellisons stopped for lunch at a small Chinese restaurant not far from headquarters. When the food was served, Jim noticed his father wasn't exactly digging in enthusiastically.

"I thought you liked Chinese."

"I do. It looks great." There was a brief silence. "Jim, I think you should know that your mother's been trying to reach you."

"Ah. So that's how she got my address."

"Not from me, and not from Sally. I've told Sally not to give out your information to anyone--given the whole law enforcement issue. I figured your phone number and address are unlisted for a reason."

"True, and Blair has his own phone line so he can give out the number freely at the U. He's a lot less difficult to trace than I am, so that's easy enough for someone to find us if they want to."

"Wait a minute--you've seen Grace?"

"In all her glory, yeah." Jim took a bite of his egg roll, then continued when the bite was nearly gone. "She came by the house last night. Said Owen died in the fall."

"I heard about that when it happened. The company has some ties with one of his banks," Bill added.

"Now she's alone and not happy about that and figured she'd come back and dredge up her sons, I guess."

"I take it things didn't go well?"

"Not really."

"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I swear I didn't give her your number or address, and I know Sally didn't. I wanted to talk to you to let you know she was trying--in case you wanted to see her."

"I appreciate that, Dad. But no, I don't want to see her."

"I thought maybe you'd want to have some contact with her now." Bill tried a forkful of his cashew chicken.

"Why?" Jim let the rhetorical question hang there a moment, then shook his head. "It was like seeing an old photograph, seeing her."

"Still beautiful, huh?" Bill asked, almost more to himself than Jim.

"You haven't seen her?"

"No."

"What I meant before is that when I saw her, she was just a memory from the past. There were no feelings from now. I didn't care about reconciling with her. When it mattered to me, she wasn't interested. Now, I'm not interested."

"I called Steven a little while ago. He said he hadn't seen her, so I gave him her number. I think he wants to get in touch with her."

"Then I hope he does, and things go well. I don't hate her. I just don't feel anything anymore."

"I wish I could say the same thing." Bill smiled a little sadly and shook his head. "She still knows how to push all the same buttons."

"You still love her?"

"No, not really. I suppose it just irks me that what she thinks of me still matters."

"One-upsmanship with Owen still hanging over your head?"

"A little, I guess." Bill snorted a little laugh. "He who dies with the most toys, wins, right? Owen's definitely going to win this one."

"Dad, the toys aren't everything."

"No, but when you spend your whole life going after them, and you lose..." Bill laid his fork aside and took a drink of his water. "...and you lose so much while you're going after them, and then, when it's over, you still aren't in the league you were shooting for..." he looked Jim in the eyes. "It still feels like losing."

"And that's the worst thing of all--losing, right?"

"It is when you lose everything else along the way. All that time I spent on work... Everything I lost while I was doing it... In the end result, who did I impress? Grace stayed with Owen and Owen came out on top anyway."

"Owen had a fortune about ten times anything Grandpa left you."

"Men have done better than Owen starting on less."

"You were raising two kids by yourself. Makes a difference how far ahead you get." Jim went back to poking at his food a moment.

"I wish I'd done a better job at that too. It's hard to look back at your life and realize you didn't honestly succeed at much of anything you worked so damn hard for. The ironic part of this is that the only venture I really feel was a big success out of my life were you and Steven. Steven's moving up the corporate ladder, making a name for himself, successful. And you." Bill smiled, a father's pride practically radiating from his expression. "You were a hero serving your country, now you're the best cop they've got in this city, with honors and commendations. I don't really mean I take much credit for that." Bill paused. "I just wanted you to know that out of all of it, you and Steven are what I'm proudest of."

"That means a lot to me, Dad," Jim said, finding his throat oddly tight, reaching for his water.

"I wish I'd been there more for you both, I do. Sometimes I just got wrapped up in the whole...game. I know that's not worth much now, but..." Bill shrugged, taking another bite of his lunch.

"I know you did the best you could. That's about all you can ask out of somebody." Jim let a little silence hang. "I always knew I could count on you. If I needed anything, I always knew where you were, and I knew if I called, you'd come, even if you grumbled about it." Jim chortled a little. "I remember you always leaving the name and number of the hotel where you'd be when you went on a business trip. It would be up on the refrigerator."

"I wanted you boys to be able to get a hold of me if you wanted to--without having to get Sally's permission. I know she always tries to screen out interruptions she thinks I won't want. She's been a better secretary than most of the ones I've had in the office over the years," Bill opined.

"Are you going to see...Mom while she's in town?"

"I doubt it. She hasn't come by the house, and I don't really want to see her."

"Maybe she'd want to see you. I mean, Owen's gone now--"

"No thank you," Bill said simply. "I may not have Owen's money, but I still have some dignity. Getting back together with Grace when she has nothing better to do isn't my idea of the way to spend my golden years."

"Good for you," Jim said sincerely, nodding.

"If you ever decide to call her...I won't be angry. I wanted to be sure you knew that."

"Thanks, but no thanks. You know, it's amazing, but she even had the gall to be looking down her nose at Blair--and making remarks about my lifestyle."

"That's Grace for you. Long on beauty, short on tolerance."

"I should have just tossed her out the moment she started giving Blair the fish eye."

"I'll admit, Jimmy...when you first told me that you and Blair were...you know..." Bill made an awkward gesture with his hand.

"Together?" Jim supplied.

"Yes," he said, relieved. "I wasn't exactly thrilled. Even when I got to know him, he was sort of a stand-in for the person I had wished for you to find--a nice woman you could raise a family with who'd be a good wife to you." Bill took another sip of water. "I don't think of him as a stand-in for anything anymore. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think you made a great choice."

"I can't believe it either. I hope you'll say that to Blair sometime."

"I intend to. That's one thing about getting older. You don't have the luxury of putting off saying the things you want to say quite as long as you used to."

When Jim arrived back at the bullpen from lunch, Blair was sitting at his desk. The younger man wasn't doing anything, just sitting there, forearms resting on the desk, fingers entwined, staring into space.

"Blair?" Jim hung up his coat and watched his lover, trying to gauge his vital signs or his expression for some sign of the cause of the unusual stillness.

"Ryan Cooper died this morning." Blair closed his eyes then, and took a deep breath. "His grandmother okay'd them disconnecting the life support at 10, and by 11:15..."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I know it wasn't a surprise, but it's still rough." Jim rested his hand on Blair's shoulder, sitting against the edge of his desk.

"You might as well tell Simon he's going to be getting a call from Child and Family Services. I just ripped the caseworker a new one. I wasn't politically correct. I wasn't even remotely polite. I let her have it both barrels, and I have no plans to apologize in the foreseeable future." Blair took in another deep, if not a little shaky, breath, and continued to stare straight ahead. "I want to take someone apart here, man. And she's just the tip of the iceberg."

"You did everything you could for Ryan--"

"That's the fucking pathetic part of all this. You know, if he'd been a housing project with a single mother, he'd have been pulled out of that home and put in foster care six months ago. He was two years old. Because his parents drove a Lexus and lived in a five bedroom house, it was okay for them to abuse him. It was okay for a 6'4" man to take that little tiny body and shake it until..." Blair's fists clenched and his voice was choked off. "Dammit," he swore softly, giving in to the tears. Seeing Blair's state, Megan paused by the desk and she walked by.

"The little Matthews boy was taken off life support this morning," Jim said quietly, by way of explanation, before pulling up a chair and putting his arm around Blair.

"Oh no," she responded, covering her mouth briefly, her own eyes filling before she turned away and walked back to her desk.

The bullpen became strangely quiet, as Megan told Rafe and Rafe told Henri and slowly but surely, news spread throughout the group. Simon emerged from his office, puzzled and unnerved by the silence, broken only by the occasional escaped sob from Blair and a few sniffles and murmurs among the others.

Everyone in the room had heard Blair spout off his frustrations with Child and Family Services for their unwillingness to remove the sweet little toddler from what Blair was positive was an abusive home. He had met with nothing but frustration, until the horrible morning two weeks earlier when Mrs. Matthews had taken Ryan into the emergency room, unconscious, and he had been diagnosed with brain damage resulting from severe shaking.

"Ryan Matthews died this morning," Henri explained to Simon.

"Damn it. Unnecessary waste of a great little kid." Simon shook his head and walked over to Jim's desk, where Blair had managed to pull himself together fairly quickly, with Jim patting his back and talking with him in low tones. "I'm sorry, Blair. I know how hard you worked on that case."

"Yeah, well, you might not say that after you hear from Child and Family Services." Blair wiped his nose with the Kleenex Jim handed him. "I expressed my feelings to the caseworker."

"I'm behind you 100% on this one. He was a great little kid. And they dragged their feet."

"Because his parents were wealthy, white collar, and had the right address." Blair swallowed, then sniffled, then smiled a little. "I remember how much he liked your statues," he said to Simon, who looked as if his own hold on his emotions wasn't too dependable. Blair had brought the little boy down to the bullpen to entertain him while his mother had blustered at the social worker and reminded everyone within a ten mile radius who her husband was, and what company he ran. The reports from a day care center supervisor and Blair's persistence had been enough to bring him in for evaluation, and to investigate the household, but not enough to overcome the Matthews' clout in the community.

During that brief visit, little Ryan with his dark curls and big brown eyes, had beguiled the room full of detectives, and had spent considerable time looking at Simon's collection of statues and figurines, fascinated by each and every one.

"I'll handle the caseworker."

"And her supervisor," Blair added.

"And her supervisor," Simon confirmed. "And the mayor and anyone else who has a problem with our pursuit of this case. I want to be present when you talk to the D.A. I think we should go for murder one on this."

"You think we can sell premeditation?" Jim asked, frowning.

"Matthews is about my size, Jim. If I picked up a little body the size of a two year old and shook it with all my strength, what could I reasonably expect would be the outcome?"

"It's worth a shot," Jim said, picking up the phone to call the D.A. "Maybe if we have to reduce it at some point, that'll keep the level up high enough to get him some hard time."

"I figure with life expectancies being what they are, Ryan lost about 75 years. Seems fair the man who murdered him ought to lose the same," Blair said succinctly.

"No arguments here, Chief," Jim retorted.

Jim watched Blair pick at his salad. When he pushed that aside, the picked at his steak.

"We're going to nail Matthews, Blair."

"Yeah, I know. Fat lot of good that does Ryan." Blair pushed the plate forward on the kitchen table and looked out the window at their bleak, barren garden. "Jim, I've been thinking. This job at the DVU...it deserves more attention than what I'm giving it. Right now, we've got one of the most aggressive, effective systems of dealing with domestic violence of any PD in the country. And if the director--that would be me--was dedicated to it single-mindedly, it would be even better." Blair paused. "I'm going to resign from Rainier."

"Are you sure about that, Chief? I know how much that teaching job meant to you."

"It still does mean a lot to me. I just realized when I got called back in to teach this semester and I'm trying to do that and the DVU...I can't do both and do either one well. I'm using canned lectures from past years, and I'm not always around the PD when I'm needed. I'm tired all the time, and everybody's getting the short end of the stick. Including you."

"I'm fine, Chief."

"You like having sex with a zombie?"

"If you're a zombie, I'm all for it," he responded, chuckling. "Seriously, though...if the schedule is too much, you're right to eliminate something."

"There are a lot of good people out there teaching Anthropology. There aren't nearly enough good people dedicated to dealing with domestic violence. I don't want to turn my back on teaching entirely...permanently. I just want to devote the time to this project that it deserves. And I also want to do some research."

"On...?"

"Domestic violence in the upper socioeconomic strata. What happened to Ryan should have never happened. We had enough to remove him from that home, and nobody moved on it until he was a brain damaged vegetable. Now that he's dead, the whole system is all geared up to fry his father for the murder. But that's useless. It's nothing. Ryan is still dead. We need to raise the awareness that abuse isn't a dirty, back street issue. That it doesn't just happen in poor households, or single parent households. It happens in fancy big houses like the Matthews', to children of people who drive big cars and belong to the country club."

"You know I'm behind you no matter what."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I feel like I can move mountains," Blair said, taking a hold of Jim's hand where it rested on the table.

"I'm really proud of what you've done with that unit so far, Chief. I know if you put your full concentration on it, you'll really kick some serious ass."

"Thanks," Blair responded, smiling. "And I do want to shed some light on abuse in households that don't fit the stereotypes."

"Maybe so Ryan didn't die for nothing, huh?"

"Yeah, exactly." Blair nodded, looking at his cooling meal.

"Think you might get a few bites down?"

"Probably should, huh?"

"Keep your strength up. You never know when you might need it." Jim grinned evilly and flexed an eyebrow at Blair, who returned the expression before digging back into his dinner.

The ringing of the phone jerked Bill out of the unplanned nap he was taking in his favorite chair in his den. Muttering a mild obscenity, he picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"William...this is Grace."

"Yes, Grace."

"It's delightful to speak to you too."

"I understand you've been to see Jimmy already."

"News travels fast. Why didn't you tell me he was...about his... situation?" Grace demanded.

"What situation would that be?" Bill prodded, knowing exactly what had Grace's socially correct feathers ruffled. Probably the fact Jim's "wife" had a penis and a five o'clock shadow.

"Don't be obtuse with me, William. You're not that dense."

"Age dulls the mind. Look, Grace, if you're talking about his relationship with Blair, why would I tell you about that? Carolyn sent you an invitation to their wedding and you didn't go."

"You didn't go either."

"I wasn't invited."

"I see," Grace responded, a slight note of triumph in her voice. "This is hardly a normal marriage situation and you know it."

"No, it's not 'normal', but Jimmy's happy, and Blair's good to him. That's all I would have hoped for out of any marriage he entered into."

"You weren't maybe hoping he'd marry a woman?"

"I tried that. We know how much of a guarantee of eternal wedded bliss that turned out to be. Look, Grace, I'm sorry if you're unhappy about Jim's choice of a spouse, and I honestly am sorry that Owen passed away, but I'm not exactly sure what it is you want from me now."

"I thought perhaps since you had this newfound closeness with Jimmy, you could talk some sense into him. For heaven's sake, Bill, how long do you think this...diversion with some throwback flower child is going to last? Probably just long enough to destroy his career."

"First of all, the last thing I would do is try to tell Jim how to run his life. Adult children tend to frown on that, and I've waited too long to have some kind of relationship with my boys as it is. Secondly, as far as I'm concerned, Blair is part of my family now, and I don't have any desire to work at freezing him out of it."

"So you're happy your son is gay."

"I'm happy my son is happy." Bill sighed, exasperated as always by going a few rounds with Grace. "Look, it would have been nice and neat and convenient of Blair were a woman. But he's not, and he's the person Jim's chosen, and they're happy. They're both adults. What in the hell do you expect I could do about it, even if I wanted to do anything?"

"You're condoning this perversion of his?"

"No, I'm glad he's happy. I don't understand what he sees in another man sexually, but his sex life isn't any more my business in this relationship than it would be if he were married to a woman--unless he brings up the subject to me."

"I knew you weren't exactly a stay-at-home father, but I can't believe you let the boys run wild to the extent that Jimmy came out of it in this condition."

"If I were you, Grace, I wouldn't criticize anyone else's parenting abilities."

"I entrusted you with our children and you let him grow up gay, for God's sake!"

"You entrusted..." Bill paused to take a deep breath, wishing there were some way to get both hands around Grace's neck via telephone. "You dumped our children on me and left me for another man. Don't make it sound like something other than it was. I was there. I remember. So does Jimmy."

"I've been in touch with Steven," she announced. "He's invited me to spend Christmas with him and his lady friend."

"I hope you have a good holiday together. If you jerk Steven around, Grace, you will regret it. I promise you that."

"How would I do that?"

"Just see that you don't make him regret forgiving you. They may be grown men but they're still my boys, and if you make their lives miserable now, so help me God, Grace, I'll do the same to you."

"That sounds like a threat, Bill," she said tauntingly. "I don't have any plans to make their lives miserable. I just want what you seem to already have--a chance to spend some time with them. Well, this has been a pleasure, as always, but I must be going. Happy holidays, Bill."

There was a click and then a dial tone. Bill hit the button on the cordless phone and then hurled it the full length of the room, watching it smash against the wall.

"Are you all right? What was that?" Sally came rushing into the room, tying her robe, eyes wide with fear.

"Just an old man throwing a tantrum, Sally. Sorry I woke you." Bill hauled himself up out of the chair, moving to pick up the pieces of the phone.

"Mrs. Winslow?"

"Good guess," Bill responded, looking at the carcass of the phone. "That was mature. Guess I better ask for a new phone for Christmas." He threw the pieces in the wastebasket near his desk.

"Would you like some tea or cocoa--"

"No, thank you, Sally, I'm fine. Thanks for checking on me. Sorry again about dragging you out of bed for nothing."

"That's all right. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Sally." Bill watched her make her way back toward the bedroom and bath that had been her quarters for years now. Sally had given all the best years of her life to raising his family. He wondered how much she felt she had lost by devoting so much of herself to her job, and sincerely hoped she didn't have the same regrets he did over his own preoccupation with his work.

He started up the long staircase and paused when he reached the top. Only a few months after he'd had a confrontation with Jimmy on this very spot, admonishing him not to "tell stories", it had been a grim Christmas in the Ellison household. What a black day that had been... probably the start of the rapid decline of his relationship to his son. Jim told no more stories after that. He rarely smiled, and generally just didn't say much at all.

Christmas had been spent with Bill's sister and brother-in-law visiting, along with their two children, a boy and a girl, just slightly younger than Jim and Steven. His sister, always resplendent with parenting advice for her brother, couldn't control her own two to save her life. While those children had turned the house upside down, with Steven in a sort of reluctant alliance, Jim had sat sullenly in the living room with the adults, finally excusing himself at the first opportunity when he felt he might get away with doing so. He'd opened his gifts with the same lack of enthusiasm, issued a few polite thank you's and then left most of it piled up near the tree and retreated into his room.

Maybe this year would finally breathe a little happiness into what had been for a good many years a very large, very cold, very lifeless house.

This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.  
Home For Christmas

by Candy Apple  
Author's webpage: http://internetdump.com/users/candy_a

Author's notes and disclaimer can be found in part one.

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS - part three  
by Candy Apple

"Mmm." Jim groaned and shifted, parting his legs a little more to make room for the body that was moving between them. The hot mouth was already engulfing his cock, a nimble finger moving back to find his center at the same time.

He gave himself over to the sensation of the hot, wet sucking, and the saliva-slick finger that was rubbing over his entrance, finally wiggling its way inside of him.

What a wake-up call...

"Sweetheart...let's move. Do each other," Jim managed. His cock was released from the hot eager mouth, and the big smile and sleepy eyes looking up at him from under impossibly messy curls was almost as enjoyable to look at as the incredible blow job had been to experience. "Merry Christmas Eve Day, Chief."

"Merry Christmas Eve Day, love," Blair moved up Jim's body so they could share a long kiss. "Remind me to thank Simon for letting you have vacation this year."

"You have any plans before noon today?" Jim asked, nibbling at Blair's neck.

"Nope. Well, not unless I get beeped."

"Or I do."

"I guess our sexual fulfillment is in the hands of the Cascade PD, then." Blair laughed. "Now there's a scary thought."

"I'm going to try not to think about that," Jim responded, smiling. "Now, where were we?"

Blair grinned as he moved off Jim and changed positions so they were curled on their sides, comfortable and relaxed for a long, slow, lazy 69. Again, the hot pressure surrounded Jim's cock, and he took Blair into his mouth at the same time. The two men mirrored each other's gestures, hands gently rolling heavy sacs, fingers probing and rubbing secret places, mouths full and busy. Jim reached his climax first, followed closely by Blair.

"Ho ho ho," Blair sighed, smiling, his head pillowed on Jim's thigh.

"If you're Santa Claus, where do I sign up to be an elf?" Jim teased, his hand lightly stroking Blair's rear.

"You're too tall to be an elf. You'd have to be Mrs. Claus."

"You've got the little granny glasses for it."

"Shithead." Blair grabbed a pillow and swatted Jim with it. "You've got the apron."

"Ouch. Touche." Jim laughed. "C'mere, will ya?" He reached out a hand to Blair who crawled up into Jim's arms, settling against Jim's side with his head resting on the firm chest.

"Is Steven coming over at all during Christmas?"

"He hasn't been returning my calls. After Dad called and told me he was spending it with our mother, I figured he probably won't be at Dad's tonight and here tomorrow. I just think it's a shitty trick for him not to be up front about it."

"You think he's not calling back because of your mother?"

"I think it's a touchy subject right now. He probably doesn't want to open it with me. I don't blame him if he wants to see her. I wouldn't hold that against him. I'd just appreciate it if he'd own up to it like a man."

"Maybe he needs to know that."

"He needs to return my calls so I can tell him." Jim smiled down at Blair. "Hey, enough of the dysfunctional Ellisons for a few minutes. Let's just enjoy the day, huh?"

"Any suggestions?" Blair waggled his eyebrows.

"As a matter of fact..." Jim reached across Blair and opened the drawer of the night stand, pulling out a small package. "Early Christmas present."

"Man, I still have to wrap yours."

"You don't have to wrap it on my account." Jim brought both arms around Blair and cuddled him suffocatingly, leaving big, sloppy kisses on his face, shoulder and neck.

"I was talking about the loot for under the tree." Blair laughed and pulled back a little from the onslaught. Intrigued by the box which was about the right size for a video tape but a bit thicker, Blair tore into the red foil paper. He was greeted with a set of red, green and white flavored body paints.

"I thought we could spend part of our day off together spreading a little Christmas cheer--in all the right places."

"This is going to be great." Blair sat up on the bed, opening the box to free the three little tubes inside. "Cinnamon, mint and vanilla. What about the sheets?"

"It's supposed to be washable." Jim leered as he added, "And edible."

"I always said your body was a work of art. Now I get to finger paint on it." Blair chuckled as he flipped open the red tube.

"Remember--what you put on, you have to clean up." Jim shifted onto his back, relaxing and watching Blair work on his project with the concentration of a great artist.

"Good stuff," Blair opined, licking a little off his finger. Grabbing the green tube, he began what was obviously the largest part of his design.

"Ah, ah. I get to clean up the artist." Jim grabbed Blair's hand and began licking the colored fingers until they were clean.

"All done." Blair paused. "Well, for now." He offered his hand again for Jim to clean off the last of the body paint. Then he flopped on his back and waited for Jim to take his turn.

"Looks like the second shift has arrived," Jim commented, noting that both cocks were reaching close to half mast for the second orgasm of the morning. "You know, I'm at a disadvantage here. You ever try to paint on a hairy canvas?" Jim complained, beginning work on his own design with the white paint. Between each color, Blair sucked each painted digit into his mouth and licked away all traces of the paint. "Almost done." Jim got one good-sized gob of red paint--and plopped it right on Blair's nose.

Inspired to retaliate, Blair found the green paint and drew a mustache on Jim, who nailed him again on the forehead with the white. Laughing, Blair rose up on his knees and straddled Jim, carefully painting a word on his forehead in red.

Both of them laughing now, putting paint in all the nonsensical places, Jim groped under the bed for the hand-held mirror he'd stashed there earlier. When he held it up, Blair just laughed harder. Then he turned the mirror so Jim could see the word "MINE" scrawled on his forehead.

"Hey, check out the art work, Chief," Jim instructed, and Blair took the mirror in his own colorful hand and held it in front of his chest.

"My wick's a little crooked," Blair opined, checking out the lopsided attempt at a candle Jim had painted on his chest and belly. "Whoa, but the holly's comin' to life," he added, as his cock got a bit harder, rising just below the green mess of paint that had been Jim's attempt at holly leaves.

"Okay, Picasso, let's see what you came up with." Jim took the mirror and checked out his own chest and stomach, adorned with a deformed wreath and a big red bow at the bottom. "Don't quit your day job," he teased.

"I already quit one of them." Blair rolled his eyes when he thought of the less than elated response of his department chair to the news of his departure.

"Great, now I've got a holder for that candle." Jim reached out and started stroking Blair's hardening cock, coating it with white paint in the process.

"Oh yeah...mmmm...so good," Blair sat there on the bed, Indian style, leaning back on his hands, head thrown back, eyes closed, concentrating on the talented hand that was massaging him.

Overwhelmed by the vision of Blair sitting there, so wantonly enjoying himself, Jim abandoned the hand job and tackled him, landing them upside down on the mattress, mingling the body paints into one horrible, mixed up mess. Unconcerned with the mess or the sheets or their position, Jim pounced on Blair's mouth as the younger man's hands gripped his back and shoulders intensely, strong legs wrapping around him, bringing their cocks into alignment.

By unspoken agreement, neither man broke the full body contact, kissing and licking and nibbling every inch of each other's mouths and faces. Unable to control the urge to thrust, both began a frantic humping against one another, their bodies and the bed rocking in time with the motion.

"Jim...inside..." Blair's succinct, slightly broken plea did not go unanswered.

Jim groped around the night stand until he found the lube, then squirted some on his fingers. Dragging his tongue through the flavored paints on Blair's belly, one hand busily moving up to rub and pinch hardening nipples, he began massaging Blair's passage, stretching and lubricating and getting him ready. When he felt the muscles were relaxed and it was time, he coated his cock with the gel and slid slowly inside, loving the feeling of Blair's legs wrapping around him again, pulling him in impossibly deeper.

Not one to lie there passively and not reciprocate the pleasure, Blair's hands rose to Jim's chest were he rolled and pinched Jim's nipples, his hands sliding around the strong back and finally just holding on, grunting and moaning in pleasure as Jim pumped in and out of him, the wet, slippery sounds of sex wafting up to tickle his ears. Feeling his climax approaching, he grabbed the back of Jim's neck and pulled him down for a long, rough kiss, tearing his mouth away to scream out Jim's name as the orgasm ripped through him like a tidal wave, giving in to it and screaming with agonized pleasure at the pressure on his prostate as Jim held one particularly deep thrust while Blair's muscles contracted around him.

With Blair's completion spurting over their bellies, Jim worked toward his own climax, gripping two handfuls of Blair's curls where they fanned out on the mattress, roughly claiming his mouth again as the staccato thrusting stopped, and he filled Blair with his seed.

"Wanna go for three?" Blair gasped out, smiling. His face was flushed and sweaty, his hair a rumpled mass of fuzzy curls, his body an ungodly mosaic of body paints.

"I don't think there's a third one in there, Chief." Jim smiled, kissing the swollen lips. "Sorry, honey. Looks like I was a little rough," Jim said apologetically, licking at the reddened lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Sorry? I never came that hard in my life... Well, okay, maybe last week a time or two, but not every often," Blair added, chuckling. Jim couldn't believe that his softened cock was enjoying the little massage from the vibration of Blair's laughter. "Stay inside me, and roll us over."

Jim obeyed the command, and soon found himself on his back, with Blair sitting astride him. That sight, with or without the magnificent feeling of being buried to the hilt between those perfect ass cheeks, was enough to excite him all over again. The squeezing of his cock by Blair's extremely talented internal muscles began to make him think of what he considered next to impossible. Time number three.

Then Blair was leaning forward, licking the flavored body paint off his chest, the hot mouth concentrating on nipples Jim thought were as exhausted as the rest of him until they started springing to life again. Blair rocked a little as he worked, and Jim finally came back to himself enough to reach up and stroke Blair's sides, then wrapped the arms around him to keep him close while his tongue went about its devilish business.

"Oh yeah," Blair muttered, picking up the pace of his rocking. "This is feeling real good." He rose up now and started stroking himself, and the realization swept over Jim that Blair was putting on a show for him. For the first time since they'd become lovers, Blair was performing, showing off, pushing all of Jim's buttons and letting loose with a wonderful exhibitionist display of masturbating himself while he moved on Jim's hardening cock.

He wanted to be watched. He wanted to perform for Jim and drive him wild. He wasn't self-conscious or nervous or reminded of anything unpleasant. Jim fought the urge to let tears well up at this new step forward, but he pushed that aside and concentrated on responding to Blair's stimulation. It wasn't a hard chore, and before long, his cock, still buried in Blair's body, was full and hard enough for Blair to really pleasure himself on it, which was what he was doing.

No one could possibly say that Blair was "on the bottom" of this moment. He was the one penetrated, but he was in the driver's seat, holding completely captive the man who impaled him. He writhed and tilted his body to get the stimulation he desired, and wantonly pumped at his own cock to bring himself to climax.

Jim thrust upward now, feeling the need to take his own pleasure, and the combination of his upward movement and Blair riding him like a bucking bronco, grinding down when he thrust up, dragged Jim over the edge to completion. Blair's cock spurted, albeit a bit more sparsely on this third round, mingling with the last of the smeared body paints on their bodies.

Exhausted, Blair literally collapsed into Jim's arms, moving up slightly to let the spent cock slip free of his body. Knowing he was close to passing out into a dead sleep, and not wanting to do that before he said something to Blair--something to mark the miracle of this moment--he pushed some rumpled hair back and kissed Blair's ear, then whispered,

"Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you for giving that to me." He held Blair tightly and though Blair said nothing, he clung to Jim a bit more fiercely, burying his face between Jim's neck and shoulder as he drifted off into oblivion.

Blair raised his head and looked around the room, groggily noting that it was after noon, and Jim was still snoring softly. There were parts of him that were stuck to parts of Jim, and he dreaded to think of how they were going to separate without Jim wearing more of Blair's body hair than Blair was. Still, he carefully lowered his head again, going back to the warm, moist resting place under Jim's chin. As if by instinct, the large arm around his back moved slightly, the hand curling protectively around his shoulder, rubbing a little, soothing him to relax again and sleep. The fact Jim was so tuned into him that he did this in his sleep touched Blair deeply, but didn't surprise him.

In the last couple of weeks, Jim had given sex back to him. It seemed strange to think of it that way, since they'd been making love for years now. When Blair allowed himself to carefully tread the minefield of his memories, he couldn't remember having no-holds-barred grunt, thrust, sweat, scream and feel-a-little-embarrassed-in-the-morning-sex before their wild encounter after Jim's mother's unsettling visit, and now this morning. He couldn't ever remember losing himself in putting on such a sensual show for Jim before. He'd progressed to the point of a little sexy stripping, and to not feeling odd at being watched, but the experience of being forced to put on a show, and then the knowledge that so much of it had been captured on tape and laughed at and used for the sexual kicks of two other men had left him deeply self-conscious, even at his wildest moments of sexual passion.

And now, that seemed more like a memory than a feeling. He remembered feeling that way. He remembered the awful feelings of humiliation and degradation that had come with his ordeal at Vince's hands, but they were memories now, and the feelings didn't come back with the memories. Because now he had put on a show, performed the most intimate thing he could perform in front of Jim--pleasuring himself and writhing his way to climax impaled on Jim's cock--and he only felt sexually satisfied, relaxed, and thrilled that he had dragged a third orgasm out of his lover.

He felt healthy, whole, and loved.

"I think we should put mistletoe on the headboard," Jim said groggily, and Blair chuckled.

"I think we should put one of those buttons up there to call for the ambulance the next time we go for three," Blair added, laughing.

"Did you put something in that pasta last night? I think we set a stamina record this morning."

"Ow."

"Stuck?"

"Yeah."

"Where? Oh, great." Jim discovered that while having Blair go to sleep with one of Jim's legs between his legs was very intimate and sexy, but more than a little uncomfortable when they opted to forego cleaning up.

"There's a glass of water on my night stand from last night. If we roll together, we're in business."

"Better just slide together. On 3." After making a carefully coordinated shift, Blair clutched the prized water glass and set about the task of dislodging the undesired unity. Togetherness was wonderful, but both men were fond of their flesh and body hair exactly where it belonged. As soon as he was free, Blair climbed on top of Jim and started playing with the soft, rumpled hair on his lover's head. "Thanks."

"For what, baby?" Jim smiled up at the face he loved so much, tucking an errant curl behind Blair's ear, caressing the shell with his thumb.

"For making me feel safe again. For loving me so much that... that I can feel whole again." Blair swallowed, feeling his eyes fill up a little. "What we've had...since we got back together...it's been so beautiful and so sweet, and so perfect...but you know, there was this part of me that...you know, with sex...I just..." Blair sniffled and wiped at his eyes, and Jim pulled him down into a tight embrace.

"What's the matter, cuddlebug?" Jim asked softly, rubbing Blair's back.

"There was this part of me that...when we'd get a little wild or a little inventive, I'd start...oh, man, you're going to hate this."

"Blair, sweetheart, come on. You can tell me anything, remember? Even if I hate it, I won't be angry. I promise."

"I compared. Before I could get into it and have a good time, I compared. It's like I had to convince myself that it wasn't like it was with Vince, that I had to remind myself where I was, who I was with, that I was okay... And if I'd done something like...like what we did, what I did... I wanted you to watch me...I wanted to turn you on like that. It felt good...liberating. Because...because I wanted you to watch me, and I wasn't thinking about being taped or being watched by someone who was forcing me into something, or who only wanted me for what he could make me do..." Blair paused, burrowing deeper into the embrace. "This isn't coming out right."

"It was the first time you felt good and relaxed performing for me in bed--the first time that you didn't stop and remember the past when you did something a little more sensuous or exotic. That you let go and threw yourself into it and trusted that the person watching you was as turned on by loving you as he was by having sex with you."

"How...that's...that's it," Blair said, his voice a little weak with surprise.

"You couldn't give me a more beautiful gift, sweetheart. Making love with you is always...great. But I felt like I really saw you let go completely for the first time this morning."

"I let go." Blair sighed, a few tears escaping. "I let go, Jim. I let go of it." He started to cry then. "I let go of it," he repeated again, firmly.

"I know you did, baby. And when you let go, it was safe, and it felt good...no ghosts, no shadows."

"For so long...it was like when we started to make love, I always remembered how...how much it hurt to be touched sexually before. It was like an association that I couldn't break. And I had to stop and...and remind myself that it wasn't going to hurt, that it was okay. And you always reminded me. The way you touched me and held me and made me feel special."

"You are special."

"But I still felt like...like that night, when you wanted to make love and I didn't, I told you 'no' because I had to do it to prove I could. It was like I was always proving something to myself, the eternal experiment. And even though the results were the same every time--if I said no, you took it with all the love and gentleness you always give me. If we made love, it was great and wonderful and I felt like the most important person in the world. It was like this morning, I just...I just accepted all that without thinking about it. And when I let myself remember, afterwards, when I woke up for a little bit? The memories were bad but I didn't feel so sick inside anymore."

"I knew something changed, and I'm so glad, Chief. So glad you feel better." Jim squeezed his lover tightly against him, kissing his hair.

"All the nice things you got me for Hanukkah, and the stuff I know you've been squirreling away for Christmas...that all means a lot to me because I know how much you love me that you want to plan for me and surprise me...Jim, nobody's ever treated me like you do. I don't mean to make that sound pathetic, but it's true. Nobody's ever...doted on me. Taken care of me. Spoiled me. That was the greatest gift you could gift me. You healed me. You made me feel whole again. You broke the hold all those memories had on me. I just love you so much I know you're never going to know how much."

"I think we go way beyond words, sweetheart. I love you too. With all my heart and soul."

"I'm really glad. Who'd'a thought? Out of all the people in the world, I was the one who got the best lover. You're the best, Jim. I couldn't ask for anything more in my best fantasy." Blair raised up a little and smiled at the wet blue eyes that met his. "You're everything in this world to me, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know it. You're the center of my universe, my little chocolate truffle," Jim added, smiling as Blair snorted loudly, laughing in response.

"Guess we oughtta get up, huh?"

"What time is it, anyway?"

"Just two-thirty," Blair responded, still grinning.

"Unless we want to hand out our gifts in grocery bags, I guess we should get up and wrap some."

"Shower first, then gifts."

"Yeah, definitely. I don't even want to start identifying all these odors in here," Jim said, wrinkling his nose.

"Some things that start out sexy sure get gross when you're too spent to get it up again." Blair chortled and moved off Jim, reaching back to pull him up. "Of course, showers make me horny sometimes..."

"I still can't believe Steven won't return your calls, man. That sucks."

"I don't get it." Jim shook his head as he started up the truck. "I think we've got time for a detour. Let's stop by his place and see if he's around."

"Seems weird he'd be so defensive of your mom all of a sudden that he'd stop speaking to you."

"Steven's always had his own agenda. You know, just like that whole mess with the Cobra... I love my brother, I'm glad we're on speaking terms--or at least, we were--but sometimes I just don't know where he's coming from or what he's thinking."

"He's kept in touch with your dad, been lots less estranged--he's a totally different personality type."

"I don't think this has much to do with Dad's influence. I think Steven's more like our mother. He looks like her, and frankly, there's a streak in him that thinks like her--materialistic, opportunistic...Steven puts a lot of stock in the things she always valued."

"Maybe because that's what your dad was always striving for."

"That could be. My dad was always trying to beat Owen Winslow."

"I thought you said the guy was filthy rich--heir to some big banking empire."

"He was. I think my dad damn near killed himself trying to prove that without an inheritance of that magnitude, Grace would have been just as well off with him. I think making her regret leaving drove him pretty hard all those years. I don't know if it was love or if it was his pride...maybe both..." Jim sighed. "It's strange...when we had lunch the other day, it was the first time I really felt sorry for my dad. For his life, the turns it took, the opportunities he lost, the hurts he went through...nobody to share his life with... Things weren't great for him either. Then when he did meet someone, it didn't work out."

"He was serious about somebody?"

"There was a lady named Silvia Wallace--she was pretty, about my dad's age--which was early forties at the time--dark hair, very fashionable. He went with her a while, brought her to the house to meet us and have dinner...and then things just sort of...fell apart, I guess. He never said much about it, but he never dated much after that either. I don't know if she dumped him or what happened. I was in junior high at the time, and we weren't communicating all that much."

"He probably wouldn't have too much trouble meeting somebody now."

"Probably not. I get the feeling he's a pretty confirmed bachelor by now. Maybe the right woman coming along would change that. I'm not sure."

"I just get the feeling there's kind of a void in his life. Maybe that's it."

"Yeah, could be." Jim pulled into the parking lot of the posh apartment complex where Steven had a penthouse unit. "You want to come up?"

"You want the moral support?"

"Always," Jim admitted, smiling. As they left the truck and started across the parking lot, a few fat snowflakes began falling. The temperatures had fallen during the night, and weren't making their usual climb into the range where rain was more likely than snow. Blair was pleasantly surprised when Jim reached into Blair's pocket and pulled out his gloved hand, holding it in his.

"I wonder if your mother's already here," Blair speculated as they rode up in the elevator. As soon as both had pulled off their gloves, Jim reached for Blair's hand again. "I love you, you know," Blair said, smiling up at Jim, who squeezed his hand.

"I know. I've gotten sort of attached to you too," he responded, and Blair chuckled.

"Yeah. Especially this morning."

"Literally," Jim added, shaking his head as they started down the hall toward Steven's door. Jim rang the bell and waited. He released Blair's hand and knocked when there was no immediate answer. Finally, there was movement inside and the door opened. Steven stood before them, looking quite relaxed in jeans, a bright red sweater and a white turtleneck.

"Jim. This is a surprise."

"It shouldn't be. I've been trying to call you for three days now."

"Come in." He stepped back as the two of them entered. "Blair," he greeted with a little smile.

"Merry Christmas," Blair said, forcing a return smile, hoping this wasn't going to be an Ellison family debacle on Christmas Eve.

"Same to you. Have a seat. Look, I'm running a little late. I've got to change--"

"Is it safe to assume you're not coming over to Dad's tonight?"

"Dad called here and left a message on the voicemail. He said he knew I was spending Christmas with Mom, and that was okay with him, and he'd talk to me after the holiday."

"So that's it? She blasts into town, tells you a sad story, and everything's okay?" Jim smiled and shook his head.

"She told me things didn't go very well when she went to see you. If you want to hold a grudge, that's your business. I don't agree, okay?" Steven finally lit on the arm of an expensive dark green leather couch. "She's all alone at Christmas, her husband's dead, and all she asked was to spend some time with us."

"And you couldn't pick up the phone and give me a call and tell me that?"

"Why? So I could get some lecture on what a bitch our mother is?"

"I never said anything like that to you," Jim defended, frowning. "Not even when we were kids. I never ran her down to you. Neither did Dad."

"He just made it impossible for her to make any kind of visitation arrangements."

"What?" Jim's eyes widened.

"Oh, I suppose he told you she didn't want us with her. She said that every time she asked to take us, he said no."

"Let me clue you in on something, bro," Jim began. "I overheard more than one conversation that was pretty much the reverse of that--she didn't want us. Dad would call her sometimes and ask her to take us for a couple of weeks--that one time he had to go to the company's headquarters in the Middle East? He told Mom on the phone he wanted us with a parent while he was gone because with all the unrest there, he wanted to be sure if there was some altercation that we'd be with family. You know what she said? NO. N-O. She didn't care about us then, because she had better things to do. She cares now because it's convenient. It fits in."

"That's not the story she tells. And why are you so sure that Dad's word is gold?"

"Because I didn't have to take his word for it. I heard it, Steve. I was there, and you and I both know that I could hear every phone conversation that came into that house if I so chose. When it involved Mom, I listened. It wasn't pretty."

"Jim, you said yourself that you wouldn't blame Steven if he wanted to spend time with your mother. Isn't the big issue here just getting everything out in the open--knowing what the plans are for over Christmas?"

"That's about the size of it. Look, if you want to reconcile with her, more power to you, and I hope it works out. But don't forget while you're welcoming her back in with open arms which parent it was who did all the dirty work."

"Oh, this is priceless. You were ready to blame Dad for everything--our lousy childhood, your...hang-ups or whatever, world hunger, the sorry state of affairs in Washington--you name it. He was this bad ass villain as far as you were concerned and now he's a model of good parenting? What is it with you?"

"Dad screwed up a lot of things, and he wasn't perfect. But you know what? He was there. He provided us a good home, kept Sally on so we weren't ever there alone or coming home to an empty house, worked his ass off keeping us in luxuries most kids would have killed for, and was prepared to put us both through ivy league colleges--did put you through one, if I recall correctly. He wasn't around for the important things when we were growing up, but he did his best. He gave us what he had to give, for what it was worth. What did Grace give us? Two weeks one summer when she couldn't get rid of us fast enough!"

"Fine, he's father of the year. That's not the story Mom tells."

"I wouldn't imagine it is." Jim stood up, buttoning his coat. "I meant it when I said I wasn't upset if you wanted to spend time with Mom. I just hope you'll take the stories she tells you and give them the credibility they deserve."

"I'm supposed to pick her up at her hotel in a half hour. Jim, look, I don't want to make this into a...thing we can't get past here. But she's my mother, and--"

"Hey, you don't have to justify anything to me." Jim rested his hand on Steven's shoulder. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again. Just watch your step, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll try," Steven said, smiling and standing up. "Maybe I can stop by tomorrow, a little later on?"

"We'll have plenty of food, and people will probably be hanging out there into the evening, so come over anytime," Blair chimed in.

"Merry Christmas, Jim," Steven said a little awkwardly, before the two brothers embraced quickly.

"You too, kiddo." Jim stepped back. "I hope things go well with Mom. I really do. We'll see you tomorrow sometime."

"I'll be there. Tell Dad...tell him I said Merry Christmas," Steven said as he opened the door for his two departing guests.

"You tell him yourself tomorrow, huh?" Jim pinned him with an intent look.

"Yeah, I will."

"You'd tell me the truth if you thought this was a dumb present?" Blair asked Jim as he moved the snow-covered tarp in the back of the pick-up so they could retrieve their Christmas gifts to take into the Ellison house.

"I think it's a great gift, Chief. He's going to love it."

"It's not a big name or anything," Blair said, carrying the large, flat package while Jim took the small carton bearing the other gifts--for Sally, and also a couple of other items for Bill. "I mean, Charlotte isn't exactly well known yet."

"You said yourself you think she will be. She already has a showing at that downtown gallery next week. Relax. He'll love it."

"Okay, if you say so--I just don't want to give your dad a dorky present."

"Chief, it's not dorky, and even if it were, you went to a lot of trouble to figure something out--something really unique. He's going to love it."

Jim rang the doorbell, and looked around at the lights, dusted by a light coating of snow, which frosted the trees and lawns just enough to give Cascade a white Christmas.

"The house looks beautiful. I never saw it all lit up like this for the holidays," Jim said, taking in the fruits of Bill's and Blair's handiwork on the lights.

"It was fun doing it," Blair responded, as the door opened and Bill appeared, opening it and motioning them inside.

"Something smells great," Jim said, smiling.

"Sally's just working on dinner. She left some cheese and crackers in the living room for us."

"How about this snow? Pretty cool to have a white Christmas instead of a wet Christmas," Blair opined, pulling off his coat, which, like Jim's, was damp with the falling snow.

"We can hang those on the hooks in the mud room--it's warm in the kitchen, so they'll dry fast back there." Bill took them and disappeared around the corner to the kitchen.

"I think I'll go wish Sally Merry Christmas." Jim headed back there, and Blair took the gifts into the living room and added them to the other brightly wrapped packages already there. Before long, the two Ellisons were back, and the three men took seats, glasses of red wine in hand, nibbling at the platter of cheese and crackers.

"Does Sally celebrate Christmas? I know it's probably not her native tradition," Blair said.

"She celebrates it because our family always has, but not in the religious sense, no. Actually, that was always nice--having her around on Christmas--you know, for the boys," Bill added. "Oh, Blair, I was meaning to ask you about the Matthews case. I notice you were quoted in the paper."

"Oh, man," Blair shook his head. "I heard about that one from Simon, the mayor...guess I need to watch out for reporters who corner me outside the hospital."

"I would have never guessed Matthews as a child beater." Bill shook his head. "I guess you never really know what goes on in the privacy of people's homes. So the charges are valid?"

"You know this guy?" Jim asked.

"Only casually. He was just appointed to the board of directors at Cascade Memorial, and I ran into him at a fundraising luncheon in early December." Bill frowned. "Must be an awkward case to handle. Those people have a lot of pull in this community."

"Hence why I get called on the carpet for calling it as I see it in the paper," Blair responded. "It's a little hard to be politically correct when you've just watched them pull life support on a two-year-old that a couple weeks earlier, you held and played with and..." Blair took a drink of his wine. "I'm sorry. I guess this isn't my best subject to get off on tonight."

"Blair was very directly involved in trying to get Ryan out of the household. Everybody at the bullpen met him--he was a sweet little kid."

"I resigned from the U. I want to do this full time. Maybe if I had been a little more...attentive, I could have done something faster."

"That's not fair, Chief. You were all over that case like a sack of snakes. You did all you could and more than the PD could have defended if you'd been wrong."

"They can't let you have the leave of absence they promised you? I know that professor died and they needed you to fill in--"

"You know how fast those search committees work. Especially when they have someone in place to cover the base. Besides, I'm always going to be worrying about my commitment there, and even if I got a semester off, it's not the same as really giving my full attention to the DVU."

"If you have any problems with Mayor Grogan, let me know. I see him at the club at least once or twice a week."

"Thanks," Blair said, smiling a little. While he didn't really want to use Bill's social status to get his job done effectively, he still appreciated the spirit behind the offer.

Sally joined them for dinner, and was pleasantly surprised to be spirited away from her dishes to join them in the living room to open gifts. With after dinner creme de menthe, Christmas music playing softly in the background and the room lit by the fire, the tree lights and a dim lamp in the corner, they gathered around the tree.

Jim and Blair presented Sally with a small combination CD player and radio that would fit neatly on the counter in the kitchen to replace the old radio she had been using there for years, which was beginning to play more static than music. Predicting that she wouldn't have a stock of CD's, Blair had selected three of them, including some classical and relaxing instrumental.

Jim had laughed at the unexpected gift of sleek black leather racing gloves from his father, who just chuckled and said they'd go well with the motorcycle leathers. The second box Jim opened made him pause, and fall silent. Inside the long, thin box were two polished wood drum sticks, with his name woodburned into them.

"These are...really beautiful, Dad. Thank you," Jim said quietly, visibly touched by the thought behind the gift.

"I know I haven't exactly cultivated your interest in music... it's a little late to make that up to you, but I thought you might enjoy these."

"They're great. I know I'll get a lot of use out of them." Sentinel fingers were running over the engraved name reverently.

"My turn?" Bill asked, eyeing the large, flat package tagged from Blair.

"Go for it," Blair said, silently hoping that he had made a good choice. The first Christmas they'd had any contact with Bill, gifts had been very impersonal--Jim and Blair had jointly given him a sweater and a gift certificate to one of his favorite restaurants. This year, the thought behind the gift seemed as important, if not more so, than the gift itself.

"This is quite a package," Bill commented, and Jim had to smile. The one thing his father had always done well was making a fuss over the presents the boys gave him for Christmas. Even if they were badly wrapped, or, when the children were small, were items he'd never use or that were ugly and handmade.

Bill was removing the last of the paper from the 16x20 painting now, and held it up carefully by its polished oak frame. It was an impressionist-style representation of a small footbridge over a river, with brightly-colored autumn trees surrounding it.

"A friend of mine at the U is an art professor, and she's having her first exhibit at the Sloane Gallery next week. I saw this in her collection of items she planned to include in the show, and I had noticed some impressionist paintings upstairs...I thought you might like it."

"This is really beautiful, Blair. Actually, I think I'll hang it in the study--move that tired old painting of the bowl of fruit that's been hanging there as long as Jimmy's been alive."

"If you don't like it for any reason, you know, I won't be offended if you don't want to hang it--"

"No, I think it's really a very stunning piece. She must be very good. I'll have to make it a point to check out that exhibit next week. We could use some new art upstairs. Thank you, Blair. This was a very thoughtful gift."

"I'm glad you like it," Blair responded genuinely, relaxing now that it seemed like the gift had truly made a hit.

"This one's from Jimmy," Bill announced, somewhat unnecessarily as he tore into the package that was about the size of a shirt box, only considerably heavier. He removed the lid and folded back the layers of tissue paper. There was a long silence. "Where did you get this?" he asked, still staring at the gift.

"Actually, I had to get another one made up, since I couldn't locate the original around here anywhere. But when I told the woman at the Chamber what I was trying to put together, she was a big help."

"I didn't think you remembered this. I mean, you were a teenager when I got this award." Bill smiled and removed the large, framed certificate from the box. He had been awarded the Cascade Chamber of Commerce's prestigious Citizen of the Year Award in 1975 for his membership on a number of community boards. "How did you happen to think about this now?"

"I thought another sweater was a little boring," Jim said, shrugging. "Seriously...I never saw it framed anywhere in the house, so I thought it was about time it was." Jim paused. "I've thought back over a lot of things lately..." He shrugged.

"This is just great, Jimmy," Bill said, then added sincerely, "Thank you."

Jim realized as he watched his father swallow his emotions and look at the framed certificate again, just how solitary the man's life had been all these years. Who would have gifted him with the framed award? For many men, it would have been a wife. Bill Ellison had moved through his adult life largely alone, and most of his professional and personal achievements in those years had gone unrecognized and were not celebrated by anyone but himself.

"Looks like there's a package under the tree for you, Chief." Jim hooked the small, square box out from under the tree and handed it to Blair, who was sitting on the couch next to him.

"Blair, before you open that, there's something I'd like to say." Bill's serious tone of voice froze Blair in place, one finger under the taped flap of paper on the end of the small box. He looked up to meet the older man's gaze. "First of all, I don't want to hear anything about you not accepting this gift. It's giving me a lot of happiness to do it, and I don't want you feel it's too much or try to give it back."

"Now you're really making me nervous here, Bill," Blair said, smiling, but a little tense, nonetheless.

"Don't be. I have to admit that when Jimmy first told me that the two of you were...more than friends, I was...less than happy," he admitted, smiling a little. "But you've got a way of growing on people, and I consider you a friend--I could accept you as a bearable substitute for Jim marrying some nice lady--"

"Bill--"

"Let me finish. I wanted you to know that I don't look at you as a substitute for anything anymore. I guess you'd call that a 'welcome to the family' present. I can honestly say that I approve of Jim's choice of partners, and I'm glad you're part of our family now." Bill watched Blair through a long silence as the younger man stared down at the box in his hand.

"That's the best gift..." he began, his voice a bit shaky. "Whatever's in the box, it won't mean that much to me. Thank you." Blair swallowed hard and smiled, bolstered a little by Jim's arm sliding around his back. "You knew about this?" Blair looked over at Jim.

"Not a thing, Chief. Whatever's in there was Dad's idea."

Blair carefully tore the paper away from the small white box and lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of cotton, was a set of keys.

"I don't get it," Blair said with a little smile.

"You will. Come on." Bill led the group through the kitchen to the door leading to the garage. Jim felt a sneaking suspicion of what the gift was now, and it suddenly made sense why Bill's Cadillac had been parked out in the driveway when they arrived.

Bill opened the door leading to the garage and with a hand on Blair's shoulder, prodded him to walk into the garage. Parked there was a shiny, brand new, black Toyota Celica GT. The small, sleek car sported a rear spoiler, a sunroof, unique triangular shaped headlights and a matching black leather interior. There was a big red bow on the hood.

"I know you have some trouble with the Volvo, and with the new job with the Domestic Violence program, you're on the road a lot more. You ought to have something dependable, something that'll get good mileage..." Bill shrugged.

"Bill...I don't know what to say...it's too much...I can't--"

"What did I tell you about that before we got started on this?"

"I know, but still...I mean, this is so...much."

"Do you like the car, Blair?"

"I'd have to be nuts not to like this car. It's gorgeous." Blair moved closer to it, running his hand lightly over the front fender.

"You've got enough room at the house now to keep a classic car and have one you can actually drive dependably every day."

"I think we could manage an addition on the garage," Jim said, smiling.

"How about it, kid? You ready to take it for a ride?" Bill prodded.

"This is so...much...'thanks' seems sort of lame," he said, smiling now and looking over his prize, knowing that turning it down would be more of a rejection to Bill, and that the older man could afford the gesture, and was genuine in his statement that it made him happy to do it.

"A simple 'thanks' does nicely. You're welcome. Now you and Jimmy go play with the new toy while I help Sally clean up from dinner." Bill turned to walk back inside, but Blair hurried over to stop him with a hand on his arm.

"The car is really exceptional, and I love it, and I know I'm going to get a lot of enjoyment out of it. But I still meant what I said before. Being accepted into Jim's family...that means more to me than a whole fleet of cars. That's the thing I want to thank you most for." Blair extended his hand, which Bill shook, giving him a brief, slightly gruff one-armed hug before backing away.

"Go on, you two. I've got a couple of pictures to hang."

Blair started out in his new car, with Jim in the passenger seat. As they took a brief drive around the area, Blair finally broke the silence.

"You didn't know anything about this?"

"I swear, Chief, I'm as surprised as you are. I knew he wanted to let you know you were part of the clan now, and he'd told me that he was happy we were together, but he never alluded to anything like this."

"This is so cool, man. It's gorgeous. I've seen these cars on the 'net, and the pictures just don't do them justice. Is this console great or what?"

"It's a great car, sweetheart. I'm really glad he got it for you."

"I still feel weird about taking something this expensive from him."

"He was telling the truth when he said that he was enjoying doing it for you. My dad really likes you, Chief. He's not always great at saying everything in so many words, even though he did this time, but sometimes, I think he says it through an expensive gift like this."

"No more stalling at lights, no more haunting the service stations...you know, I love the Volvo, and I didn't want to get rid of it, but it was a real pain in the ass to keep getting stuck, especially out in the rain and the rotten weather. Or like that time it stalled out on the corner of Morton and Eighth streets? Yikes," Blair recalled being stranded in one of Cascade's toughest areas, a call that Jim had responded to with lights and siren, even though nothing had happened to Blair...yet.

"I'm glad you're in something dependable. It's about time."

"Yeah, Mr. '69 Ford is one to criticize me for driving an old bucket."

"Mine is dependable."

"So's mine...most of the time." Blair smiled, knowing he'd lost the argument, and not really caring. "We probably better get back."

"Yeah, sit around for a little while and visit."

"You know what this Christmas was all about with your dad, right? Acceptance. The gloves, the drum sticks, this car for me, and what he said. I mean, he's accepted the two hobbies he thwarted when you were growing up, and he's welcomed your male spouse into the family. That's a lot more than you'd get from a lot of guys his age."

"I was pretty stunned with the gifts myself. I know he's changed a lot, and I know it's important to him to have family around him now--that he's willing to be more tolerant and accepting to make that happen. I never expected this much from him."

"Guess you know how important you are to him now. It just took him this long to figure out how to relate to you."

"And he's smart enough to know that the fastest way to my heart is through you." Jim took a hold of Blair's hand and squeezed it.

"It's kid of nice, having family at the holidays, isn't it?"

"It's great. But not as great as having you all year." Jim tugged playfully on a lock of Blair's hair. "Come on, Mario, let's get back."

After the shredded wrapping paper and empty glasses had been cleared out of the living room, and Sally had long since gone to bed, Bill sat on the couch and thought back on the evening. He couldn't remember a happier Christmas in his adult life, and for once, he felt content with the state of his relationship with his children. Steven toying with a reconciliation with Grace was a bit unsettling, but it was his choice, and as long as Bill could keep his thoughts to himself on that issue, there would be a chance of maintaining what seemed to be a somewhat more fragile relationship with him.

He rose from the couch and turned out the last of the lights, unplugged the tree and trudged upstairs for the night. After showering and changing into his robe, he pulled the large photo album out of the bottom dresser drawer and sat on the bed with it, propped up with a few fluffy pillows against the carved wood headboard.

He'd kept the scrapbooks on the boys--the one on Jim had ended up stuffed to capacity with his military honors, and the notoriety he'd earned as one of Cascade's finest. This photo album was a hodgepodge of old family photos, everyone from his own parents and grandparents to Grace and the children--prior to her departure. All occasions were represented in here, including some past Christmases. Looking through the album had become a Christmas tradition as he got older--and as he'd spent more than one Christmas Eve alone since the boys left home.

He smiled at the photos of his mother. Though they were black and white, he could remember her startling blue eyes--the same eyes he saw in Jim. The color was unique, vibrant...and he'd known the moment he'd seen his infant son that he carried a little part of his grandmother with him. His father had been a rather austere sort, and Bill was regretful to recall that he'd patterned more of his parenting style after him than after his mother, who had a devilish, impish streak a mile wide. She had brought the joy into the household, the laughter, and the warmth. Anything Bill had learned about love and family had started with his mother--and had been too long overshadowed by his father.

Not that William Ellison, Sr. had been a bad sort. He was a good man, a good provider, a real corporate go-getter and perfectionist who accepted nothing less from his children. It had never crossed Bill's mind that his father disliked him or didn't love him, but then, his mother had always been there, the peacemaker, assuring the children that their father loved them, that it was just "his way"...Jim and Steven had enjoyed no such reassurance, because they'd had no mother to temper their father's bluster and drive for excellence.

Not lingering too long on photos of Grace, Bill paused when he came to a single photo. The one that always gave him pause every holiday when he took it out and looked at it again.

He was at a holiday gathering at the country club with Silvia Wallace, the woman he'd hoped to marry. Stunning as ever, frozen in time in her flame red dress with the sparkling diamond jewelry, Silvia had been a dream come true--wealthy, cultured, intelligent, beautiful... and Bill had fallen so hard for her that his former feelings for Grace looked like puppy love by comparison.

Inviting Silvia to the Ellison household for dinner to meet the boys had seemed a formality, at best. Their relationship was strong, they were in love...

But the Ellison house was not the opulence Silvia was used to. Two young boys who, though well-behaved under strict orders from Sally, practically vibrated with contained energy, also held little appeal for the wealthy socialite. As she smiled and made small talk throughout the evening, Bill had detected the shift in her behavior. She was behaving the way she did at parties she would confess to him in the car that she had loathed--and they usually laughed about it, because those were generally the functions Bill detested as well. Now he was seeing that behavior in her as she sat at their dinner table, tolerating polite conversation with the children.

Dismissing Silvia as the wrong kind of woman had been even harder than dismissing Grace in that manner. He'd had a knack for choosing beautiful, superficial women, and he knew, looking back, that he'd often desired their social status as much as the women themselves. When you sought love in that manner, you courted heartache, and he'd learned that lesson the hard way.

He could have afforded a trendy penthouse apartment, which would have probably assuaged Silvia's disdain for what she had once called "subdivision living". With another promotion, he could have gotten a better car. And he knew he could have solved the child problem by simply shipping the boys off to boarding school, because Silvia would have gleefully bankrolled that decision.

But Jimmy still occasionally seemed to have one of his black outs, and the boys had already been abandoned by one parent. Bill had made the commitment to himself and his children that they wouldn't have that experience a second time.

The relationship with Silvia had crashed and burned about two weeks after the fateful dinner. Bill would remember the evening they broke up as his last official "date" with anyone. Fed up with the game-playing of romance, and convinced he wasn't going to find anyone to spend his life with, he'd concentrated even harder on his work, and let his social life dwindle to only those functions that were necessary to cultivate his professional reputation and build more business contacts.

Tossing the album aside and running his hand over his face with a large yawn, he got up and laid his robe on the nearby chair, then climbed into bed and turned on the television to watch a late news show, which he knew would put him to sleep. As he dozed in the large bed, he couldn't help but idly wonder how different his life would have been if he'd actually found the perfect life partner. Shaking his head with a little chortle, he thought of Jim with Blair, and concluded that maybe he'd been looking in the wrong places--the ordinary, expected places. God knows Jimmy hadn't exactly hooked up with a person anyone would have chosen at random as an expected life partner. And for him, it had worked out beautifully.

Grateful that Christmas dinner was going to be a pot luck instead of a home cooked feast like Thanksgiving, Blair yawned, stretched and enjoyed the extra time in bed, just lounging around with Jim. They'd made lazy love at dawn, then gone back to sleep. Happy to curl up again next to Jim, the ringing phone was not a welcome intrusion.

"Hello," Blair said, pushing up on one elbow.

"Blair? It's Brenda. Brenda Caldwell."

"Merry Christmas, Brenda. How are you feeling?" Blair smiled as he felt Jim move up behind him, an arm going around his middle, a warm kiss landing on his bare shoulder.

"Better. I'm at my parents' place in Tacoma. I'm going to relocate up here for a while, see if I can get a job here. I found a really good therapist, and we're working through some things."

"I'm glad to hear that, Brenda."

"I still don't hate Mike for what happened. And I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm still not sure that I don't want to be with someone who...who is more...dominant. I just need to figure out what's right for me, you know? Understand myself better."

"I think that's a great idea. I'm not judging your life choices, Brenda. I just hated seeing you get hurt. I'm glad you got out of that situation."

"It got out of hand. A big part of entering into a discipline relationship is being with a partner you trust. I realize now, looking back, that Mike was abusing me--he abused that trust. I don't know yet what's going to happen, but I realize now that it was good to move on from that marriage, anyway." Brenda was quiet a moment. "I didn't mean to go off on a tangent. I mainly wanted to call and wish you happy holidays, and thank you for hanging in there for me. My folks are being really great...really understanding. I feel like I'm getting it together, and I guess I just wanted you to know that."

"You're still going to press charges against Mike, right?"

"I have to think on it. I know he's out on bond pending the trial...sometimes I still don't feel right about testifying against him for assault charges. I don't know what I'm going to do for sure. I figured that after the holidays, I'd make a solid decision and stick with it."

"Please testify, Brenda."

"I appreciate your concern, Blair, and I probably will. I just need to get my head together. The cop I saw at the hospital--that was your Jim, right?"

"That's the one." Blair leaned back into the solid warmth behind him.

"He's a real stud--you are so lucky."

"Thanks. I think so. On both counts," he said, laughing, glad to hear Brenda join in on the other end of the phone.

"I better let you go now. Have a good holiday."

"You too. Anytime you need to talk, just give me a call."

"I will. Thanks, Blair." And then the connection broke and a dial tone remained.

"She's vacillating on testifying?" Jim probed, cuddling Blair against him after the younger man dispensed with the phone.

"Yeah, but that's not the most important part of all this. The best thing to hear is that she's seeing a therapist now, working things through."

"Putting Caldwell behind bars is a pretty important part of this."

"Sure, it's important. But Brenda getting her life back together is the main thing. I gotta say I wish she wasn't hung up on this whole discipline thing, but I guess it's her choice...even if I think she is courting another abuse situation."

"I hope things work out for her." Jim nuzzled Blair's neck. "You smell good." Jim inhaled deeply. "You smell like us."

"We could probably exchange gifts now--everything'll get so busy later..."

"I got my gift right here." Jim squeezed Blair tightly.

"You unwrapped me early. I mean the Christmas gift," Blair responded, grinning. It crossed his mind that he was almost getting used to being treasured as much as he was, and that while every affectionate thing Jim said or did flooded his heart with warmth, it didn't surprise him anymore. He was spoiled stinking rotten on too much love, and adored every second of it.

"Okay, let's do it, Chief." Both men parted and reached under the bed, then came up with their packages, laughing at each other for having the same thought. Gifts under the tree were lovely and traditional. Gifts under the bed were more fun--and a whole lot less chilly to open in the nude. Stuffing pillows behind themselves, they traded wrapped boxes.

"There's more under the tree downstairs, but I wanted to give you this one up here," Blair said, resting his head on Jim's shoulder while the other man began tearing at the paper.

Jim lifted the lid on the box and parted the tissue paper. Inside was a pair of silk pajamas, a rich shade of blue not dissimilar from the color of Jim's eyes. One touch of sentinel fingers told him that these were not only expensive, but probably the most exceptional silk he'd ever felt. Without much effort, he could have zoned on just running his fingers over the lapels.

"Chief, these are incredible."

"I know you get cold sometimes at night--it gets chilly in here and I know you don't like the distraction of the fabric from pajamas nagging at your sense of touch whenever you move...I thought maybe these would feel good enough that you'd like them."

"They're really beautiful, Blair. The texture is just incredible. Almost like running my fingers through your hair when we make love," Jim said, sinking one hand into the curls, pulling Blair in for a long kiss. "Thank you, sweetheart. They're great."

"There's something else in the box."

"Oh oh. Almost missed it." Jim carefully moved the pajamas aside and took out a CD. "This is great. I was looking at this a couple weeks ago," he said, reading the listing of songs on the back of the Styx CD. "I remember trying to learn 'Grand Illusion' on the drums. I think that was probably what drove my dad over the edge," Jim said, laughing.

"Actually...I figured you'd like the whole CD--it's the double album from their concert tour. But I wanted you to listen to the second song on the first disc."

"'Paradise'?"

"Yeah. I just got the CD for you last minute yesterday when I made that run into the mall? I knew there was a song that said what I wanted to say, and I just had to track it down. This one was it."

"Then I guess I better put it in the CD player." Jim smiled and leaned over to put the disc in the small player by the bed.

"After Christmas Eve Day...it just said everything..." Blair let the words trail off, and snuggled happily into Jim's arms once the CD was in motion.

//One touch was all I needed to know  
You were the one for me  
My fate and my destiny  
You smiled and all at once I could see  
I'd found a love so true  
That I could give all to you

And suddenly I realized  
That all the fortune and fame  
Can't compare to the sound of your voice  
Whenever you speak my name

'Cause Paradise  
Is anyplace where I can be with you  
And leave behind  
The heartache and the pain that I've been through  
Safe in your arms  
Safe from the world tonight  
You are my paradise

My heart was broken so many times  
I couldn't imagine when  
I'd ever love again  
But every time I look at you  
I know that I've been blessed  
I'm sure I've found heaven on earth  
Each time I feel your caress

And all at once I realized  
That all the fortune and fame  
Can't compare to the sound of your voice  
Whenever you call my name

'Cause Paradise  
Is anyplace where I can be with you  
And leave behind  
The heartache and the pain that I've been through  
Safe in your arms  
Safe from the world tonight  
You are my paradise...//

"That's what you did for me, what you keep on doing for me everyday, and I just wanted you to hear it from someone who could sing it better than I can," Blair said, grinning up at Jim, who kissed the smiling mouth and hugged Blair tightly.

"That was great, Chief. I feel--" he froze as the CD erupted with sound as the next track was a raucous, boisterous rock song that sent electric guitars and crashing drums into the quiet bedroom. Going with the flow, Blair started moving with the music, and Jim slumped back laughing. "I think they need to work on mixing these tracks a bit to maintain the mood," he quipped, still chuckling at Blair, who was undaunted and gyrating as if he were being electrocuted, right along with the beat.

"Man, I loved that song when I was a kid--the video was really cool."

"I guess this is one we can agree on then?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" Blair finally stilled, laughing a little self-consciously. "But I really meant what I said about the first song. I never thought I was going to be able to leave behind the stuff I went through--even for a while. It's always going to be there somewhere in my mind, but it doesn't rule me anymore--I control it. You gave me that back, and I really felt it full force the first time yesterday morning. I performed for you and it felt great. Not sick or degrading--it was fun. I was getting hot and I knew you were, and it just felt like healthy, sexy fun. Not a reminder of something ugly. It's like all of a sudden, the lights just went on again. I'm not trying to find my way through so much darkness."

"I'm glad, sweetheart. It meant the world to me to know it was happening, and I knew it when you were moving for me and letting me watch you. You know by now I love watching you."

"Hey, I have to open my present," Blair said, his face flushing a little at the open praise.

"Have at it." Jim leaned back on the pillows with Blair partially leaning against him as he opened the heavy box that was about the size of a shoe box. Puzzled with its plain white surface, Blair opened the end of it and slid out a bubble-wrapped object.

"What is this?" he asked somewhat rhetorically as he removed the wrapping around the object itself. Inside, he found a polished oak desk accessory that was rectangular in its length, and triangular on its sides, allowing it to sit flat on the desk. One side was a clock and gold pen and pencil holders which Blair immediately filled with the enclosed pens to get the whole look.

"Turn it around, honey," Jim said, reaching over to guide Blair's hands in doing so. On the side of the object, which would face visitors, was a large gold nameplate with the following engraved in strong, straight letters: "Blair A. Sandburg, Ph.D.", and beneath it, in slightly smaller letters, "Director".

"Jim, it's beautiful... I don't deserve this. I mean, it looks so...so...professional."

"Blair, you're a Ph.D., you head up a major division at the PD, and what you do is damned important. If that's not professional, what is?"

"It's just...it's gorgeous. I never had anything like this before."

"Then it's high time you did. Blair, I was really impressed by the commitment you made to the DVU when you decided to quit Rainier and devote yourself to it single-mindedly. I know it's a hard job, and I know it takes a lot out of you--sometimes I know it reminds you of things you'd rather forget. But you do it because you're committed to helping these people, and because you care. And you're making a difference every day you're there. That impresses the hell out of me. I don't know anyone who deserves to be considered a 'professional' any more than you do, and quite frankly, a nameplate and a couple of pens isn't much of a recognition of it, but it was the best I could come up with. I'm more proud of you than you'll ever know, Chief. Maybe once in a while when you're getting through one of your frantic days, and you have to look at the clock, you can look at this one and remember that I'm thinking about you, and that I'm only a phone call--or a call of my name--away if you need me."

Blair bit both lips together hard, trying to avoid making a scene. Tears sprang to his eyes anyway, and a couple leaked out.

"You'll never know...you're never going to understand what that means to me. Every time I look at this, I'll remember this moment, and what you just said. It makes everything worthwhile."

"Come here." Jim took the prized gift and set it carefully on the floor next to the bed, out of harm's way, along with his pajamas. He then gathered Blair into his arms, feeling strong arms wrapping around him in response, and just lay there, relaxing and soaking up the closeness. "I love you."

"I love you too," Blair said, pulling in his emotions and smiling. "I love my present."

"I love mine too. And the CD is great--maybe I can finally learn 'Grand Illusion'," Jim added, then laughed. It was contagious.

Friends began arriving early afternoon, bearing numerous tasty-smelling foods to contribute to the meal. Everyone had signed up to bring their speciality, whatever it might be, and Jim and Blair had agreed to provide whatever course or food category that might leave uncovered.

"I had no idea we had so much culinary talent out in the bullpen," Simon joked, helping himself to another portion of the au gratin potatoes Henri had brought, along with a chocolate dessert confection no one had been allowed to sample yet.

"Looks who's talking," Blair needled, taking another forkful of the taco casserole Simon had created. "This stuff is great."

"No lectures about cholesterol or red meat?" Simon probed, smiling.

"Not until after dinner, anyway," Blair said through a mouthful.

"I didn't know you could cook like this, Jim," Megan spoke up, diving into another mouthful of the lasagna Jim had contributed to the meal.

"One of Major Crimes' best kept secrets," Henri grumbled, referring to Jim's disinclination to volunteer to bring in home-cooked dishes to the PD gatherings.

"I moved in with him just so I could have the lasagna once in a while. The spaghetti's good, too," Blair added, laughing.

"I'm really glad to hear that you're going to be devoting full attention to the DVU, Blair. I think we've got some good things happening with that program."

"Thanks, Simon. I do too. I'm hoping eventually I can get back to teaching part-time, maybe, but for right now, with us working some of the bugs out of the program, I think I need to be there full-time, without distractions."

"The mayor wasn't nearly as ruffled about the Matthews situation as I expected he would be. Actually, I'm not sure if he thinks it's a good move politically, or if he really is committed to it, but he's behind us all the way in prosecuting Matthews to the full extent of the law." Simon shook his head. "Too bad it's too late."

"Maybe it won't be too late for another Ryan someday," Megan spoke up.

"That's my hope," Blair responded.

"That's so lame, man. Somebody has enough money so they get to beat on their kids?" Daryl shook his head disapprovingly. "If those people were poor, they'd'a taken him away fast enough."

"My point exactly, Daryl. When I was a kid, Naomi was always keeping one eye over her shoulder to be sure someone from social services wasn't going to show up. We moved around a lot, she was a single mom, sometimes she had live-in boyfriends...she was a prime target for custody problems. But somebody in a 'stable' home environment can beat their toddler and nobody takes him away? There's something seriously wrong with that system."

"Grogan had some good things to say about your program, Blair," Bill interjected, munching on one of the egg rolls Rafe brought. The meal was nothing if not international and extremely eclectic.

"He did?" Blair looked at Bill with raised eyebrows.

"I ran into him at Church this morning, and he was the one who brought it up--since you work with Jim. He said something to the effect that you still could use a little more finesse, but you got the job done."

"I don't want to develop anymore finesse," Blair responded, laughing. "If I did, I wouldn't get the job done at all."

"Probably not," Jim agreed. "Being pushy is pretty necessary when you're ruffling people's feathers."

"And I think his feathers were the most recently ruffled," Blair added, grinning. "Thanks for passing that on, Bill. At least I don't have to worry about my office being packed up when I go back in after the holidays."

The rest of the meal progressed in companionable conversation until most of the food was depleted, and leftovers were wrapped up and stowed for later nibbling. The group adjourned to the living room where they exchanged gifts, sipped mildly spiked egg nog and enjoyed the relaxation of a social get together outside the environs of the PD.

"A few days ago, my dad issued a challenge," Jim said, finally, smiling a little. "He wanted to hear me play something on the drums that--what was that again, Dad--you could distinguish as music instead of heart palpitations?" That drew a laugh from Simon, who had suffered a baptism by fire with his own son's musical tastes.

"I was kidding about that, Jimmy," Bill responded, chuckling.

"Well, never one to pass on a challenge, Blair and I have been working on that. So let's head down the basement and we'll show you our stuff."

Blair had slipped down earlier and turned on the space heaters, so the occasionally chilly basement had a nice, pleasant warmth about it. Before their guests arrived, Jim and Blair had moved the furniture into such an arrangement that they were all facing the drums. When all their guests had taken seats, Jim took his position behind the drums, holding his new drum sticks, and Blair seated himself on a stool near the drum set with his guitar. Jim brought a ripple of laughter through the group when he twirled one drumstick before starting.

"It only took me 25 years to perfect that," he said, smiling. Without further adieu, they began their little performance.

It wasn't long before the first light tapping of the drum gave way to the initial strains of "The Little Drummer Boy", the words to which Jim and Blair sang together, with Blair accompanying Jim's drums very subtly with the guitar. Aside from the music itself, a pin dropping would have seemed loud in the room. After the words, "Shall I play for you?", both men picked up the volume and tempo of their instruments, Jim adding a little more of the bass drum, still keeping it subtle, but stronger until the music faded with the ending of the song.

The little audience immediately gave a round of applause, but had little time to linger over that before Jim and Blair started in on the first strains of "Winter Wonderland". It didn't take Henri long to get up and go retrieve Blair's electric guitar, which Blair always happily loaned him when he came over to jam. Contentedly playing his acoustic, sitting next to Jim, it didn't appear he was in any hurry to use it himself. With the additional accompaniment from Henri, and the clapping and singing along from their friends, the music took on a whole new life. It wasn't until they paused after that song that Jim got up from his seat.

"Doorbell," he said simply.

"I didn't hear anything," Megan said, frowning.

Happy to distract their guests from pondering Jim's heightened hearing, Blair egged Henri on to play a couple carols on the electric guitar.

Jim made his way to the front door, happy to see Steven standing there with a couple of packages.

"Sorry I'm so late. I just dropped Mom off at her hotel."

"I'm glad you made it. Come in. Everything go okay?" Jim asked, closing the door behind his brother, and taking his coat, adding it to the bulging collection in the foyer closet.

"It was kind of surreal. Kristin was there with me, and we picked Mom up and took her back to my place for dinner and opening gifts last night, and then she stayed over, and then we all went to Church and brunch this morning, and spent some time just visiting. It was okay."

"Okay?" Jim probed, leading Steven into the kitchen, where he poured him a glass of the spiked egg nog. After one sip, Steven smiled.

"Oh, yeah, I can use this." He paused. "I was glad to see her again. You know, see that she was all right, get a chance to talk to her again. But she really couldn't answer any of my questions. I didn't want to make this ugly, since it was Christmas and her husband died not too long ago. But some things, you just can't help wondering about. I asked her why she left, and I honestly wish I hadn't."

"What did she say?" Jim frowned.

"She said that she wanted more out of a marriage that Dad could give, and that she wanted a better life, and that she just...'clicked' with Owen, and that they were meant for each other... It was as if the whole concept of deserting us didn't bother her. Then she'd go into this round of telling how Dad didn't let her take us for any vacations..." He shrugged. "I'm not sure what to believe."

"I wouldn't lie to you about that, Stevie. You know that. I overheard him on the phone with her more than once. She wouldn't take us. Even when he had to make that trip to the company's operation in Iran--she said no then too."

"I figured as much. I know you said that before, but I didn't want to hear it." He took another drink of the egg nog. "Sounds like I'm breaking up the festivities--you should get back."

"We should both get back. Dad's still here. He'll be glad to see you."

"One of those gifts I brought is from her--she sent you something."

"She did, huh?" Jim shook his head. "Well, she always did do the present thing when we were kids."

"I don't know what to feel about her, you know? Part of me wants to just have her in my life, and this other part keeps remembering that she dumped us, and doesn't seem to be able to honestly say she regrets leaving us."

"I know how you feel. There was a minute there, when she came over, that I wanted to just forgive everything and move on, but I couldn't do it. I could do it with Dad, but I couldn't do it for her. Maybe because even though some of the things he did were pretty crappy at the time, he stuck by us, and I know he gave up some overseas career opportunities not to uproot us or take us somewhere that the education or lifestyle wouldn't be as good for us. He wasn't perfect, but he tried. And he put us ahead of what he wanted, even though it never felt like he did back then."

"I didn't know he'd passed anything up."

"I didn't really think about it until I started spending some time with him again, realizing that he didn't make it all the way to the top--at least not in his book. Then I remembered overhearing conversations where he turned down one opportunity to take over an operation in the Middle East for a few years, and another one a few years later, in Tokyo."

"Maybe he didn't want to go. I mean, the Middle East is pretty turbulent, and Tokyo is a different culture."

"Possibly, but I don't think so. I think he wanted success more than he wanted his personal comforts." Jim shrugged. "It's all water under the bridge now."

"He made it to CEO and Chairman of the Board."

"Yeah, of Pacific Coast Plastics. But at least one of those offers was from a bigger corporation--one that would have put him in the leagues he wanted to be in."

"I never knew that."

"Once in a while, I've overheard something meaningful," Jim said, smiling. "I try not to listen in on things like that, but when you're a kid, your principles in that department are a lot less developed."

"True. Your principles are a lot less developed in a lot of things. I should know."

"Hey, that mess is in the past. Let's leave it there."

"Okay," Steven said, smiling.

"Come on. Grab the egg nog. There's a party going on downstairs."

Most of the guests had left, except for Bill, who was perusing the pictures on the mantel of the fireplace again.

"I should get going," he said, turning when Blair entered the living room.

"No hurry. Jim's just cleaning up in the kitchen, and I drew wrapping paper duty. I can stand waiting on that for a while." Blair kicked one of the crumpled balls of paper with his foot.

"I was wondering...do you have any photos you could spare? I don't have anything current at my place."

"I'm sure we've got a good one of Jim around here somewhere. Actually, I think I took a couple of nice shots over Thanksgiving we could get enlarged."

"That would be great. But I'd like one of the two of you together, if you have it."

"You don't have to do that, Bill. I know it's probably awkward when people visit at your place. I don't mind digging out one of just Jim, really," Blair assured.

"I know I don't have to do it. But if I'm going to start getting some pictures of family up there, I'd like to make it complete. Steven's getting me one of himself and Kristin. I guess that's looking pretty serious."

"Thanks for including me in that," Blair said, smiling. "I'll get a couple of photos together in the next week or so. I was thinking we could add some of the Christmas photos you were in on this year to our collection up here." Blair gestured at the grouping of photos.

"Great. I better get going. The roads are a little sloppy out there." Bill started toward the entry hall.

"Bill? You'd be welcome to stay over tonight if you want. If that slush freezes, it'll get slick. We've got the room."

"I don't want to put you out."

"Tomorrow's Sunday. We could have a big breakfast, sit around and watch football or something. Unless you've got other plans?"

"No, not at all. You sure that'll be all right with Jimmy?"

"Sounds like a great idea, Dad." Jim joined them in the entry hall, winding his arms around Blair from behind. "Good job evading the wrapping paper detail, Chief. The kitchen's done."

"All right already. Geez." Blair ducked out of the embrace and went about his tidying up detail. "Hey, Bill, were you the neat freak Jim caught this from?" he hollered at the two men in the entry hall.

"I'm afraid that would be Sally or the Army. No one's ever accused me of being a neat freak. Just ask my last secretary." The two of them joined Blair in the living room, and before long, both were helping round up errant paper and remnants of gift opening.

Dressed in the obscenely soft silk pajamas Blair had given him, Jim sat propped up in bed with the last gift of the season on his lap.

"Is that the one from your mom?" Blair asked, dressed in his favorite old robe, hair loose on his shoulders. He sat on his side of the bed.

"Yeah. You don't suppose this is a box of those trick snakes, do you?" Jim quipped.

"What did Steven get?"

"He said she gave him some kind of handmade scarf from Ireland, and I guess some cologne or something." Jim started opening the red foil that wrapped the box. He opened the somewhat thick box and revealed a bulky, oatmeal-colored sweater. There was a tag on it that expounded on its virtues as a handmade item from Ireland. "Guess she must have taken a trip there recently and done some shopping."

"The sweater's beautiful," Blair said, reaching out to touch the soft fabric. Jim opened the greeting card that had been lying on top of it, with his name written in his mother's ornate scrawl.

"'I took a trip to Ireland with friends this November, and I thought of you when I saw this. I had to guess at the size, but I did see some current newspaper photos, so hopefully it will fit. I'm sorry we weren't able to spend time together over Christmas, but I understand. If you change your mind, you have my numbers. Best wishes for the New Year. Love, Mom.' " Jim tucked the card back in its envelope.

"I guess she's trying her best."

"You know what, Chief? I don't know as that's good enough."

"Well, at least you have her number if you change your mind."

"Yeah, that's the problem. I've had her number for a long time."

"Maybe someday things'll work out with her."

"I'm trying to get past it all, to want to see her. It's just not happening, Chief."

"Then don't force it. If it's meant to happen, it'll work out--just like it did with your dad."

"She can send me all these gifts, but you know, I know how she feels about us, and I know that her love is still conditional."

"Your dad took some time to get used to us."

"He was polite to you right from the start. The point is, my mother just conveniently blocks out the part of my life she doesn't like. She sends me a gift and this damn card without even mentioning your name."

"She doesn't know me, Jim. Why--"

"Because if you were my wife, it would be damned insulting for her to hand me a gift and not even include you on the card. While you're hardly my wife, you're my spouse, my life partner--in terms of the acknowledgment I expect from my family, the rules are the same. We're married, and I don't want anything to do with anyone who doesn't treat you with the respect and courtesy you have coming."

"I'm not mad about the gift or the card."

"You never are, sweetheart." Jim reached out and laid a hand on the side of Blair's face. "You forgive hurts and slights easily...and just like with my dad, you were even trying to assure him he could put out a picture of me without putting anything out that included you. I know you aren't obsessive about this, or trying to force the issue." Jim let his hand fall away, back into his lap. "But see, I am. I can't marry you legally, so the only way I can do it is with all the legal paperwork we have together, and by seeing to it that my family and friends accept you as my spouse."

"Jim, if everyone in our lives turned on us tomorrow because of our relationship, we wouldn't be any less married to each other in all the ways that count. I love you and you love me. Nobody can change that by leaving my name off a Christmas card. I just want you to know that you're free to keep in touch with your mom or try to rebuild things with her whether she accepts me or not."

"I know I am, honey. But I don't want to rebuild anything with her if she doesn't, because you're the center of my life. I don't have much use for people who don't treat you right. I can't help that."

"Let's just figure things with your mom are on hold. You want me to put this over on the chair for tonight?" Blair nodded toward the package.

"Yeah, thanks." Jim watched Blair take the box and carefully set it on the chair in the corner of the room. He took off his robe to reveal his sweats, complete with socks. The temperatures had plummeted outside, and the big old house had its share of drafts. When both men were tucked in bed, Jim turned out the lamp on his nightstand before they nestled together.

"These pajamas are nice," Blair opined, running a hand over Jim's chest. "When it's a little warmer, I'm gonna have to get in bed with you naked so I can try 'em out."

"You know, I could probably keep you warm enough tonight."

"Your dad's right down the hall."

"For a minute there, I felt about sixteen," Jim added, laughing. "So we'll be quiet."

"We're never quiet, Jim," Blair reminded him.

"I guess we'll just have to be sure our mouths are busy enough, then." He tugged the covers up over their heads, and the lump in the bed writhed, twisted and grunted until a t-shirt, sweat pants, boxers and socks had flown haphazardly out of the cocoon, landing on various spots around the room.

"Mmmm...niiiice," were the last coherent words Blair managed.

Bill had helped himself, at Blair's invitation, to a couple of books from Blair's shelves in his home office. Propped in bed now with the radio on low, playing the last strains of Christmas music of the season, he relaxed and lost himself in the tale of a faraway place, a remote tribe, and strange cultural traditions. He glanced somewhat suspiciously at the volume that sat unopened on the bed. Blair had vehemently suggested the book on the Yanomamo headhunters, claiming to have actually visited the tribe during his undergraduate days. Deciding the only headhunters he wanted to know about were the ones he encountered in the corporate setting, he went back to his current reading.

Spending Christmas night with family was a nice change of pace. The relaxed late evening chatting with Jim and Blair over leftovers in the kitchen, the sounds of other people moving around, other voices in the hall at night--it was a nice change from the quiet solitude of his own house, where the most raucous thing he heard most nights was the tolling of the grandfather clock or a car moving down the street outside.

He heard a thump now, and strange moan that was cut off in the middle. A few minutes later, there was another thump, and then muffled laughter. And then more laughter. Whatever misadventure had befallen Jim and Blair as they tried to do--without being overheard--what they undoubtedly did more frequently than Bill wanted to dwell on, it had sent them into a fit of uncontrolled laughter. Smiling and shaking his head, he figured that his son, as well as Blair, had both gone through enough in their lives that they needed a little laughter once in a while. As for the sex...well, he'd never deluded himself that they shook hands in the hall at night and then slept in separate rooms.

Though the voice was deeper now, and the laughter was a man's laugh, the sound carried him back, way back, to the time before Grace left, before Steven was born, to a Christmas when he had lain on his back on the living room floor and spent Christmas night playing and rough-housing with his three-year-old son. When he'd tickled the little toddler until he squealed and laughed and wriggled around, when he'd pored over a set of directions that would have puzzled one of the company's overpaid engineers to put together a radio-controlled police car--one with a real siren and flashing lights. Little did he know how appropriate that gift would turn out to be.

It had been one of the rare moments that amused Grace as well. She had sat on an expensive leather ottoman nearby, watching the spectacle, sipping a glass of wine and laughing occasionally--the sound like music. For a few brief moments in time, life had been perfect...this Christmas, Bill could honestly say he'd captured that same feeling of happiness and inner peace in spending time with his eldest son, and of course, Blair, who had been a relentless proponent of the whole reconciliation. His relationship with Steven, which had been more consistent over the years, oddly enough seemed more tenuous now, but that was due in large part to The Grace Factor.

Bill smiled as he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "The Grace Factor." At least now it had a name.

Another loud thump was followed by more laughter, and in a moment, there was a tap on the door. Jim poked his head inside.

"I saw your light was still on. Sorry about the noise, Dad. I hope we aren't keeping you up."

"No, I was just reading. I assume since you're both laughing, no one's been injured," Bill said, smiling.

"Not yet, anyway," Jim said, shaking his head.

"I probably don't want to know what the thumping was, do I?"

"Probably not. But I think we have it under control now."

"That's a relief, before you kill yourselves in there."

"At least I'd go out with a big smile on my face," Jim said, unable to repress his wide smile then.

"There are one or two things I really don't need to know, Jimmy," Bill reprimanded with a slight smile, as he put his reading glasses back on. "I'd tell you to 'carry on', but I think you're doing that anyway."

"Sorry, Dad. We'll keep it down to a dull roar. Good night."

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"You probably don't remember the police car, the one with the little remote control..."

"It had a siren and a flasher? Yeah, I remember it. Seems like I had it forever, even though it didn't work after I was about five or so," he said, smiling. Then, a further memory seemed to come back to him as well, and he looked at his father. "That was a good Christmas that year, wasn't it?"

"One of the best. You remember that far back?"

"I remember you sitting on the floor with the directions and I remember how excited I was when it actually worked."

"You were three," Bill explained. "I'll have to see if I can dig out pictures. I think Grace took a few."

"Don't arm Blair with baby pictures, Dad. Please."

"Hey, I heard that." Blair joined Jim in the doorway, wearing his plaid robe, his hair looking as if he'd just stuck his finger in a light socket. "You've got an unfair advantage. My mom showed him all my baby pictures," Blair informed Bill.

"That's interesting. Guess you have some dues to pay here, Jimmy. I'll ask Sally to look around," he added, grinning a little wickedly as he pretended to go back to his reading.

"Sally still likes Godiva chocolates, doesn't she?" Jim asked.

"Oh, man, bribing Sally is low, Jim," Blair scolded teasingly.

"Make it a box of truffles and throw in a bottle of Dom Perignon and I'll misplace the photos myself," Bill volunteered.

"How about if I fix you up with a really hot date to share the chocolates and champagne with?" Blair offered.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner," Bill announced. "See, Jimmy--you've got to have that little edge to bring to negotiations."

"I'll see what I can do," Blair said. "Goodnight, Bill."

"Blair?" he called after the younger man, who returned to the doorway.

"If you'd rather stick with 'Bill', that's fine. But I hope you'll feel free...to call me 'Dad' if you want." Bill watched Blair, not sure if his silence and stillness meant it was a stupid idea, or if it had really touched him that much. "It's really not a problem if you'd rather not."

"I...I'm just really...surprised." Blair smiled brightly. "I think I can handle that. Goodnight, Dad," he said, before hesitantly turning away and heading back down the hall to the master bedroom.

"Thanks, Dad," Jim said quietly, smiling as he started to pull the door closed.

"Jimmy?" Bill waited as Jim paused. "I really enjoyed this holiday."

"Yeah, so did I." Jim let a long silence pass. "I'm glad you're here, Dad. This was... nice."

"I agree. See you at breakfast?"

"Right. Sleep well."

"You too. Be careful in there," Bill added, going back to his book. He heard Jim chuckle softly as he pulled the door shut.

When his eyes no longer focused on the adventures of the tribe detailed in the book, Bill laid it aside and turned out the light, sliding down in the bed and tossing the spare pillows aside. All that came from the other bedroom now were a few muffled sounds that he really couldn't discern, and he relaxed and let the Christmas music playing low on the radio soothe him into sleep.

A sleep that presented a montage of Christmas memories, some happy, some sad... crowned by the thoughts of this most recent Christmas. The Christmas he'd earned a place on the Ellison-Sandburg mantel, a secure place in his eldest son's life, and gained himself someone who seemed like another, albeit younger and more unpredictable, son.

For the first time in his life, as William Ellison let go of consciousness and slipped off into sleep, he felt like the most successful man in the world.

THE END

Happy 2000!! :-)


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